The Family Tree
by GreyPencil
Summary: AU: It's Harry's first year and he's dreading it. After all, he hasn't had to go to school with Dudley for 2 years now...
1. Enter Dursley, Dursley and Dursley, Stag...

**Warning:** First Fic! AU, small amounts of non-explicit HarryTorture, de-sanctification of several adult characters.  
**Disclaimer: **Like Duo, Heero, Aragorn and Legolas, Harry Potter and co only belong to me in the 10 minutes just before I wake up every morning. The rest of the time they belong to You-know-who-sama. I'm not making any money out of this (actually I'm not making any money at all), though I may be saving some (oh, sorry, that was on the X rated fics).  
**A/N:** While JKR's stuff is wonderful, it's all a bit good_ old_ fashioned_ values in it's family dynamics. This is the wonderful world of Harry Potter, with family dynamics, trees, and feuds courtesy of Dallas, Eastenders and Animal Farm. More or less.  
A few later aspects of this fic were inspired by Myr's Fugitive Prince, which is a fantastic creation well worth reading.   
  
Pretty please, review, and thank you for reading.  
  
  
**1. Enter Dursley, Dursley and Dursley, Stage Left.**  
  
Number 4, Privet Drive was a very normal looking house. The front garden was very neat, the windows were sparkling clean, the back fence was well maintained and the milk bottles were never left on the doorstep.   
Every morning, at precisely 10 past 8, Vernon Dursley, a fleshy man with a florid face and manicured hands, would back his car out of the garage and leave it, engine idling, by the front door. Vernon would then lever himself back out of the drivers seat and wander down the drive to say good morning to Mr Arlington, who would be passing Number 4 at 8:13 walking his two cocker spaniels, Mutt and Jeff.  
Mutt and Jeff did not like Vernon Dursley. They would snap at him and then hide behind Mr Arlington. Vernon Dursley thought that they were playing, and Mr Arlington had chosen not to enlighten him.  
Mr Arlington did not like Vernon Dursley either.  
Vernon Dursley was Managing Director of a small firm that manufactured drills. He liked to think of himself as an important businessman and talk loudly about the state of the economy and that idiot Ellis who ran the local Chamber of Commerce. Mr Arlington who, before he retired, had run a large multinational chemical corporation, found Mr Dursleys business pronouncements rather tiresome.  
Vernon Dursley played golf and liked to talk about the good old days when he'd played rugby. Mr Arlington, who in his youth had been a forward prop, looked suspiciously at Vernon's triple chins, non-existent neck, manicured hands and weak legs and kept his opinions to himself.  
After two minutes of conversation, Vernon Dursley would say "Well, got to be getting along now. You know how it is..." He would then wink or shrug at Mr Arlington, depending on his mood, stretch his hands above his head, crack his knuckles and walk back to the car, tucking his shirt back in and yelling for Dudley.  
Mr Arlington would ruffle Mutt and Jeff's ears reassuringly, and the trio would progress up the road to Magnolia Crescent, interrupted only by a pause to share a rueful smile and a head shake with Mrs Figg of Number 6.  
Dudley Dursley, at this moment being shooed out of the front door by Petunia Dursley, would whine that he didn't need to leave for school this early, and Petunia would apologise and explain about Vernon's important work.  
Dudley and Petunia were about as different as mother and son could get. Dudley was red faced and blond, Petunia was sallow faced and mouse. Dudley, at very nearly eleven, was barely shorter than his mother and was fat enough that he had two chairs at the kitchen table. Petunia was thin enough, as Mrs Figg put it, that she wouldn't even be good for stock. Dudley had no neck whatsoever, and had great difficulty with his school uniform because of this. Petunia had a great deal of neck, which she used mainly for peering over the enormously tall fence surrounding the Dursleys back garden and spying on the neighbours.  
Dudley was pig faced. Petunia was horse faced.  
Dudley whined and threw tantrums. Petunia pouted and bitched.  
Dudley worshipped the ground he walked on. So did Petunia.  
A great many of the neighbours found watching the Dursley family very entertaining, although a number of the less charitable ones had been heard to mention that they'd rather watch them on TV, or in some other remote location where they could be avoided or switched off.  
After Dudley had left for school, Petunia would begin a round of shopping and gossiping. Sometimes, in nice weather, she would work in the front garden. At half past four, Dudley would be dropped back at the house by Mrs Polkiss, who lived ten minutes away on Arbutus Walk and who's son, Piers, was Dudley's best friend.  
Dudley would be heard stomping around the house for ten minutes, and would then appear dressed in casual clothes. He would saunter down the road towards Pier's house, looking for trouble.   
Mrs Figg's cats, the toddlers at number 10 and Mutt and Jeff knew very well to stay out of Dudley's way.  
At half past five, Vernon Dursley would come home from work, put the car in the garage and stalk into the house, radiating well being.  
At ten to six, the small, scruffy boy who ran errands for the Dursleys and did their garden would appear. He would say hello to the toddlers, pet whichever cat was in range and wave to Mutt and Jeff. He would then knock on the front door of Number 4 and shortly afterwards he could be seen tidying the back garden or washing the car.  
If the neighbours had truly been paying attention, they might have noticed that the boy never seemed to leave.  
  
Harry Potter, also aged nearly eleven, although less nearly eleven than Dudley Dursley, was of the opinion that the Dursley household was in fact very abnormal.  
The first strange thing about the Dursley household was that nobody except the headmaster of his old school knew he lived there.  
Harry had been sent to stay with the Dursleys for a week or two almost 6 years ago, and somehow nobody had ever come to collect him. Vernon Dursley, who hated all of Petunia's family, had nearly thrown him out there and then. However, the letter from Aunt Rose, who he'd been living with before, had calmed Vernon down a little, and won Harry a place to stay.  
Initially, Vernon had wanted to keep Harry in the cupboard under the stairs. However, Petunia had argued that she kept the ironing board and the vacuum cleaner in there, and she didn't want to be bothered with hauling them both up and down the stairs from the cellar. Vernon had then realised that if they kept Harry in the cellar, they didn't have to worry about getting him a baby sitter. The cellar, after all, had a loo and a hand basin. Harry could drink from the tap and they could leave him some dry food. That way they could go on holiday to Lanzarote next week without worrying.  
After due consideration, Harry was given a rather moth eaten blanket and a list of chores and pushed into the cellar.  
The first chore on the list was planting a large, evergreen shrub in front of the tiny, high window that was the cellar's only source of fresh air.  
When the Dursleys came back from Lanzarote, lobster red and bad tempered, it had taken them three days to remember to look in the cellar. By that time Harry had gone past very tired of eating cornflakes and tap water and on to worrying hard about not eating cornflakes at all.  
Blinking in the sudden light, Harry had failed to dodge when Vernon slapped him for not finishing the chores while they were away.  
Harry felt that that moment had set the tone for the next six years. He went to school (the Dursleys had still been being cautious when they enrolled him), did his chores and otherwise pretended he didn't exist. Petunia and Vernon were very unpleasant to him, but rarely actually hit him. Dudley hit him whenever he could catch him, but was a lot nicer to talk to.  
Harry was actually quite grateful to Dudley for spending all his free time beating on him. Aunt Rose had been home tutoring him before he came to the Dursley's, and he was quite a long way ahead of his grade. Dudley's incessant bullying and Petunia and Vernon's disinclination to discipline him had drawn the attention of the headmaster, a rather eccentric old man nearing retirement age. The obvious solution, at least to Mr Betony, was to accidentally drop cigarette ash on Harry's file, burning a hole where Harry's date of birth had been. Shortly after that, Harry had found himself class mascot/ teddy bear for the seven year olds. The seven year olds had been bigger than five year old Dudley and did much more interesting things in class.  
There were two other very strange things about the Dursley family. One was Harry himself, and the other was Dudley.  
Harry had always known that his parents had been a witch and a wizard. Aunt Rose and Uncle Blaine were a witch and a wizard too and they had explained it to him. Every now and then, when Harry was scared or upset, he'd find he could do magic too. There'd been the time when Dudley's gang had trapped him, and seconds later he'd found himself on the roof with no idea how he came to be there. There'd been the time when Aunt Petunia's hair turned blue, and when Aunt Marge's yappy little sausage dog had actually turned into a sausage (Dudley had eaten it).  
Harry was very puzzled by Dudley. Vernon and Petunia were about as magic free as you could get, but Harry was sure one of the strange things that happened on Privet Drive had been Dudley and not Harry. Harry had been blamed, of course, but that was so normal Harry barely even noticed anymore.  
Harry had had more sense than to mention that he thought Dudley might have magic. He kept his head down, did his chores, and waited for his sixteenth birthday.  
  
Drawn on the wall of Harry's cellar was a large and intricate calendar, specially designed by Harry himself to count down to the day he could walk out of Privet Drive and never come back. It was large because it had to cover 10 years. It was intricate because 6 year old Harry had felt that a straight list of 3652 days would be overly depressing.  
Part of Harry's daily ritual was, after being shoved back into the cellar on finishing his chores, to pull an eagle feather quill and a pot of ink out of his satchel and tick off the day. After that he'd hide the quill and ink again and get on with his homework. Homework done, if there was any light at all, Harry would pull his book from the satchel and read a few pages before curling up in his blanket and going to sleep.  
The book was called 'Magical Herbs and Fungi of the British Isles Including Ireland, the Channel Islands and Gibraltar.' It was very fat. Harry knew it by heart.  
  
On this particular evening at the beginning of July, Harry was intending to spend a very long time on his book. He'd finished all his summer homework in the first week, and this year he wouldn't need to do Dudley's. His chores had been relatively light today and Harry had a whole two hours of daylight to read in. He'd just gotten thoroughly absorbed in the uses of lesser mugwort when there was a strange, almost slithery, plop from under the broken window and a voice said "Bugger."  
Harry looked up from his book. Underneath the window was an adder. Surprised, he asked "I'm sorry, did you just say something?"  
The snake squirmed round to face him. Harry thought, if snakes could blush this one would be glowing. "Ah, yes. Sorry about that, mate. Won't happen again."  
Harry put the book down. "But you just did."  
The snake cocked it's head sideways. "Right. Yes. You mean the talking thing, don't you?"  
Harry nodded. "I didn't know snakes could talk. What did you mean?"  
The snake glared at him. "Never you mind." It slithered over to Harry and twined around his leg with it's head resting on his knee. "I'm Ethan, by the way."  
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Harry."  
"I know who you are."  
"You do?" asked Harry. Nobody outside school knew who Harry was.  
Ethan hissed irritably. "We all know who you are. There aren't many humans who can talk to us, you know. We do try to keep track of them."  
"Really? I'm speaking snake?"  
"Yes, yes. Can't you tell?"  
Harry shook his head. It really did sound exactly like English to him. "So, uh, did you mean to come down here?" asked Harry. This was the longest conversation he'd ever had at Privet Drive and he wanted it to last, but maybe Ethan would be more inclined to come back if Harry was helpful now.  
Ethan swung his head back and forward. "I did want a look around in here, but I didn't quite mean to do it this way."  
Harry grinned at the snakes mournful tone. "I can try and help you out, if you want."  
"That would be kind."  
Harry stood up, a little off balance with Ethan clinging to his leg. "If I stand on my books, I can almost touch the window frame. Do you think you could manage?"  
Ethan slithered up Harry and looped around his neck. "Dear me, you are a shrimp, aren't you?"  
Harry stiffened. "Well, that's not my fault, is it?"  
"No, no. No need to be touchy, I was just _saying_"  
"Oh, sorry." Harry blushed. "It's just, Uncle Vernon always says stuff like that, you know?"  
Ethan brushed his head across Harry's face. "Hmm. That's a very fat book you've got there."  
Harry picked up 'Magical Herbs and Fungi' and said, "Yeah, I kind of brought it here by accident."  
Ethan sniffed. "How do you bring something that big somewhere by accident?"  
Harry closed the book and put it on the ground under the window. "Oh, well, I wasn't supposed to be touching it outside lessons, but I wanted to look something up. I had it in my room and I heard Auntie Rose coming. So I just stuffed it in my bag along with all the evidence. Auntie Rose made me pack to come here without even looking at what I already had in the bag."  
Harry balanced his maths and chemistry books carefully on top of 'Magical Herbs and Fungi' and followed them up with two neat towers of paperbacks. On top of that he put another thick tome, 'Theoretical Studies for Advanced Transfiguration 18 and 19: Sub-Atomic Physics and the I-Ching.'  
"Oof," said Ethan. "That looks nasty."  
Harry flicked the book open. It was filled with obscure symbols and fifteen syllable words. "Yeah. Aunt Rose was teaching us to write neatly, but if she gave us something we could understand then we concentrated on that and not our handwriting. It got packed by accident too."  
Harry plopped the book back down on the heap and followed it up with a few more paperbacks and his physics and biology books. He poked the heap gently. Nothing happened.  
Very carefully indeed, Harry climbed up onto the stack of books and reached up. He could just touch his fingertips to the bottom of the frame if he stood on tiptoe. Ethan wriggled quickly up Harry's arm, ignoring the slight swaying, and lunged across the gap. He had just managed to get the first six inches of himself out of the window when he felt Harry begin to topple backwards.  
Ethan did the first thing that came to mind. Bite the shrub in front of him and thrash his tail until he managed to get out of the window.  
Harry crashed to the floor in a tangle of books.   
From upstairs, he could hear Vernon's heavy footsteps approaching.  
"Bugger," he said, and scrambled frantically to hide the books he wasn't supposed to have.  
Harry was picking up the last of his schoolbooks when Vernon unlocked the cellar door. The paperbacks were stacked behind the door (Vernon never closed the door while he was in the room) and the two tomes were back in Harry's school satchel.  
Harry took one look at Uncle Vernon's face and winced. It was pale, with high colour in his cheeks. Vernon's nostrils were flared and he was breathing hard.   
"I'm sorry, sir," tried Harry, tentatively. It couldn't make things worse, could it?  
"Sorry?" hissed Vernon viciously. "You're sorry, you worthless piece of scum? I have important guests tonight and the only task I have given you is to remain quiet and out of sight. And you are not even capable of that, you useless brat." Vernon kicked casually at Harry, not even caring if he hit him or not. "I haven't got time to punish you now, freak, but don't think I've forgotten. You will be sorry, oh yes."  
Harry remained completely still, listening to Vernon stomp back up the stairs and into the kitchen, listening to him call, "Oh, nothing Dear, just one of Mrs Figg's cats got into the basement and knocked over a few boxes. I'll just be a moment." Finally, convinced that Vernon wasn't waiting just outside the cellar for him to relax, Harry curled into a ball in his blanket and pretended to be asleep.  
  
Ethan slipped away into the gathering dusk. He would tell his family that the youngest speaker was a kind child and that the people he lived with smelt bad. Someone, somewhere, would do something.  
  
Three mornings later, Harry was awoken by Aunt Petunia unlocking his cellar and demanding that he get up instantly and cook Duddykins' birthday breakfast.   
Frying bacon and sausages in the kitchen, Harry listened to Dudley counting his presents. Harry wondered if that was the most school work Dudley had done all year. Pushing the bacon to one side to keep warm, Harry fried bread, a tomato for Aunt Petunia and six eggs. He carefully plated up the three heart attacks and surreptitiously wiped out the frying pans with the heels of the new loaf. He scarfed one slice down before walking through to the living room to let the Dursleys know breakfast was cooked.  
Dudley had more presents for his birthday than Harry remembered the whole of Aunt Rose's family having at Christmas.  
"Aunt Petunia? Breakfast is ready." Harry paused briefly. He could never tell whether Petunia wanted him to wait to be told to serve breakfast or whether she wanted him to get on and do it.  
Petunia didn't acknowledge him, but Dudley's head came up from the mound of wrapping paper and turned to him. Food was a surefire way of getting Dudley's attention.  
Harry scooted back into the kitchen and poured Aunt Petunia's tea (weak, with lemon and sugar), Uncle Vernon's coffee (strong, with cream and sugar) and Dudley's coke (extra caffiene and sugar). He put the plates on the table as the family came into the room and leaned back against the wall, waiting for them to finish eating.  
Dudley, it seemed, did not have quite enough presents.  
Present number 37, from Vernon Dursley and sponsored involuntarily by Harry, was a punch bag.  
Picking himself off the floor, Harry retrieved his now slightly grubby heel from the floor and ate it anyway. Most of what was on it was his blood and he was hungry enough not to care what it was. While doing the dishes, Harry managed to get his hands on half a sausage and a good scraping of egg yolk. Feeling really quite uncomfortably full, Harry started moping the kitchen floor. While it was drying, he made the beds and picked up the laundry. Washing on, Harry went back upstairs to finish straightening up and clean the bathrooms.  
When Harry came back downstairs, there were footprints all over the kitchen floor, extra dishes and a note saying they'd be back at 4 and he'd better have finished the housework and be well into the gardening by then.  
Harry took the opportunity to say all the words Vernon used that he wasn't allowed to, and then raided the first aid kit and went back upstairs for a real bath.  
4 o'clock came and went. Harry barely noticed. Deep in the flower beds, he was pulling up weeds. At six, having caught the newest crop of dandelions in the lawn, he was pushing the mower back and forth. At eight, washing the ground floor windows, Harry was beginning to worry. Not that he particularly minded if something bad happened to the Dursleys, he assured himself, it was just that he didn't fancy being blamed for whatever it was. And besides, if they never came back he'd have to go to an orphanage, and from what his friend Joey said, they weren't much fun at all.  
Just after nine, Harry heard the car in the drive. Harry hastily turned off Dudley's new gameboy without saving, put it back where he'd found it and dashed into the kitchen. He'd prepared dinner earlier, so all he had to do now was turn on the heat.  
Harry listened to the conversation as he cooked. As far as he could tell, given Dudley's tendency to exaggerate, Dudley had leaned on the glass in the reptile house and it had broken. Dudley had found himself wearing a boa constrictor while Petunia and Vernon had been bitten by a pair of rather venomous creatures from South America. Unfortunately, both snakes had been milked during their sleep and had had only tiny amounts of venom left, and Dudley's boa constrictor hadn't been big enough to get a good hold on him.  
Petunia and Vernon had been dosed up with anti-venin just to be on the safe side, and Dudley had gotten away with a bruise or two. Harry noticed that no-one was saying anything much about how Dudley had gotten away, and Harry wondered again if Dudley did have magic.  
He was lucky. Not even the Dursleys could blame him for this.  
  
Five days later, Harry picked up the post as normal and sorted it as he walked back to the kitchen. Bills for Uncle Vernon, letters for Aunt Petunia, newspaper, postcard for Dudley, letter for Dudley, letter for Harry.  
Letter for Harry?  
Harry looked again. The address said:  


_Mr H Potter  
The Cellar  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey  
  
_

in green copperplate. Harry turned the envelope over. The flap was sealed with wax with some kind of crest embedded in it.   
Harry stopped dead in the hall and looked again at the letter for Dudley. This one said, in the same green copperplate:  


_Mr D Dursley  
The Second and Fourth Bedrooms  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey  
_

  
Harry put everyone else's post by their plates and turned the heat up slightly under the sausages. Leaning against the counter and pretending to watch the bacon, Harry opened his letter.   
  
Dear Mr Potter,  
You have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry....  
  
Harry froze in sheer horror. He knew about Hogwarts, of course, though he hadn't thought he'd be able to go living with the Dursleys. That wasn't the problem. The problem was what Uncle Vernon would do to him for infecting Dudley with his abnormality.  
Harry ran back to the cellar as fast as he could. He yanked quill and ink out of his bag and scrawled a quick acceptance note on the envelope. Harry stuffed all his possessions into the satchel and bolted back up the stairs, envelope in hand. After a quick stop in the kitchen to turn the heat off, Harry slipped out of the back door and climbed over the fence where it was shortest into Number 5. From there he got onto Privet Drive and set off walking in the general direction of Joey's orphanage.  
  



	2. Enter Hagrid, Stage Right, Holding a Pin...

**Warning:** First Fic! AU, small amounts of non-explicit HarryTorture, de-sanctification of several adult characters.  
**Disclaimer:** Like Duo, Heero, Aragorn and Legolas, Harry Potter and co only belong to me in the 10 minutes just before I wake up every morning. The rest of the time they belong to You-know-who-sama. I'm not making any money out of this (actually I'm not making any money at all), though I may be saving some (oh, sorry, that was on the X rated fics).  
**A/N:** While JKR's stuff is wonderful, it's all a bit good_ old_ fashioned_ values in it's family dynamics. This is the wonderful world of Harry Potter, with family dynamics, trees, and feuds courtesy of Dallas, Eastenders and Animal Farm. More or less.  
A few later aspects of this fic were inspired by March Madness's Fugitive Prince, which is a fantastic creation well worth reading.   
  
Wow. I have reviews already! Nice ones! Thank you! You may or may not be pleased to know that until I read them, I hadn't intended starting this chapter until tomorrow.....and now it's 4,000 words and counting...  
  
  
**2. Enter Hagrid, Stage Right, Holding a Pink Umbrella.  
**   
The Dursley family had found communication by owl something of a strain. The arrival of the Letter had caused something of a ruckus and the absence of Harry and, more importantly, breakfast, had done little to help. Still, with a little luck and perseverance, Vernon had entered into a correspondence with Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.   
Today, the 31st of July, the Dursleys were to meet a member of the Hogwarts staff at exit 4 of Tottenham Court Road Tube station. This person would convey the family to a place called Diagon Alley, where they could purchase Dudley's school supplies.  
Vernon had been assured that he could exchange normal money for wizard money, and if there was a problem, there was always Petunia's vault.  
Petunia's vault?, Vernon had asked.  
Minerva's return letter had been a trifle sharp. Even, it said, if Petunia was a squib, she was still entitled to a small income from the family fortune. Minerva, anticipating the next questions, had continued, explaining what exactly a squib was, and that the Petunia's family were a very old and very rich wizarding family. As third daughter and squib, Petunia would not receive a great deal but, at least until the heir came of age the trustees had decided to allow her an income.  
Vernon had decided not to ask who the heir might be. Instead he had had a very long discussion with Petunia on why, exactly, she hadn't mentioned the squib thing before and why she'd allowed him to think that her older sisters were the family freaks, not herself.  
When the dust settled, Petunia had told Vernon and Dudley what she recalled of the wizarding world.  
It hadn't been long before Petunia was gushing over how wonderful Dudley would look in his robes. Vernon even went so far as to encourage Dudley to hex people, though privately he felt that a Smeltings stick was more likely to be effective.  
  
It wasn't until he was crammed onto a tube train between his wife and son that Vernon Dursley began to wonder how exactly the freak, or as he privately called him, the_ probable_ heir_ to_ the_ fortune_ from_ which_ Petunia's_ substantial_ income_ originates, had known what was in Dudley's letter.   
Vernon wasn't particularly cross with the boy at this point. If the boy had been there when they'd read the letter initially, there might have been some small trouble, but as the boy had been sensible enough to vacate the premises there was no harm done. Since Dudley was now magical as well, and Petunia's family were all witches and wizards, Vernon would have to lay off the freak insults. That only left insults about the boys mother and father.  
Petunia had turned out to be quite opposed to any insults about James Potter, and really, did he want to piss off someone who might turn him into a toad by accident? Especially as his boy Dudley was going to learn magic and would obviously be in a better position than Vernon to discipline the brat.  
Yes, if they ever saw the child again, they'd give him to Dudley. It would be much simpler.  
  
At Tottenham Court Road, Vernon looked about him mystified. Everyone here looked entirely normal. Perhaps the teacher was late?  
"Dad!" Dudley tugged violently at his father's sleeve, trying to get his attention.  
"What is it, Dudders?" Vernon looked where Dudley was pointing frantically and spotted a very large man with a huge, black bushy beard, wearing a floor length black overcoat and carrying a pink umbrella. Well, thought Vernon, that certainly isn't normal. I wonder how I missed that.  
Lead by Vernon, the Dursleys waded through the crowds towards the man, ignoring the venomous looks they collected as Dudley flattened a number of smaller people.  
The very large man removed his weight from the railing as they approached. "Dursley, is it?"  
"Yes, that's right. Vernon, and this is Petunia, and of course, Dudley." Vernon smiled his best sales smile and stuck out his hand.  
The very large man examined Vernon's hand as if it were some strange and probably toxic mould and then studiously ignored it. "I'm Hagrid. You'll need to be following me."  
Hagrid turned to go, sweeping up the small boy sitting on the railing beside him. It took Vernon several moments to recognise Harry with his hair washed and no bruises.   
The small voice that was Vernon's conscience muttered something ridiculous about not realising just how small the boy actually was. Vernon suppressed it rapidly. After all the boy was standing right next to someone who had to be at least half giant. Of course he'd look small.  
  
Harry, hand lost in Hagrid's huge fist, trotted down Charing Cross Road, enjoying the bustle and the summer sunshine. He'd never been anywhere like this before.   
"Hagrid?" Harry asked cautiously. The half giant had seemed very nice when Harry had first met him, but Harry wasn't in the habit of trusting adults.  
Hagrid's beard twisted until Harry could actually see some of Hagrid's face. "Yeah, Harry?"  
"Do I have any money?"  
Hagrid grinned. "Well, I guess you've got some. Don't know how much though, do I?"  
Harry frowned. "Do you suppose I've got enough to get some normal clothes as well as my uniform and stuff?"  
Hagrid looked the boy up and down. He was a small, skinny thing and the shorts and t-shirt he had on were pretty big on him. "Have to wait and see now. 'spect you'll grow some when you get to Hogwarts, so you'll not want to get much."  
"Oh no, I didn't want much, really." Harry trailed off, looking in some amazement at a window display. Hagrid followed the boy's gaze and flushed.  
"Eyes left Harry. Not old enough for that yet." Hustling the boy past the shop, Hagrid asked, "What did you want, anyway?"  
Harry flushed. "Socks."  
"Socks?"  
"Ones that only have one hole each, and that aren't washing machine grey or stiff or faded differently."   
Hagrid blinked. The only person he'd every heard that enthusiastic about socks had been a house elf he'd known in his youth. "I'm sure Madam Malkin's does socks, Harry."  
Hagrid paused, looking shoulder for the Dursleys. They were a little further back, Petunia trying to pry Dudley away from the shop window that had attracted Harry's attention. "Oy! Dursley!" Hagrid waved the pink umbrella. "We're here!"  
Vernon grabbed Petunia and Dudley by the arm and yanked them away from the shop. "We are?"  
"Here. The Leaky Cauldron. Finest Butterbeer in London, and not bad at all if you want something a little stronger, if you take my meaning, Mr Dursley. Come on."  
The Leaky Cauldron, thought Harry, looked like it could use an new coat of paint and a lot of cleaning. The outside of the building was a sooty black with faded paintwork and a dimmed sign. Looking about him, Harry realised that of all the people in the street, only himself, Hagrid and Dudley could really see the place. Even Aunt Petunia, who knew it was there, and Uncle Vernon, who'd had it pointed out to him, were having trouble seeing it.  
Inside, the pub was cool and dim, welcome shelter from the July weather. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Harry realised that the inside was as clean and welcoming as the outside was grubby and threatening. Following Hagrid through the bar, Harry tried hard not to stare at the very strange people tucked into every corner. The strangest by far, Harry thought, was the nervous looking man in the dress and the purple turban. Hagrid waved happily to him and dragged the four of them out of the pub and into a small, scruffy courtyard.  
"Hagrid?" asked Harry, tugging gently on his sleeve. "Will we have to wear dresses too?"  
Hagrid paused in his counting of the brickwork. "Dresses? Oh , robes! Well now, most folk do, and your school uniform's robes. But if you wanted to wear muggle clothes on the weekend, you could."  
Dudley, who'd taken great delight in calling his parents muggles ever since he'd heard the word, looked rather concerned at this information. "Do we have to wear hats, too?" he asked, thinking of the assortment of pointy hats, top hats and bizarre hair styles he'd seen in the bar.   
Hagrid tapped his umbrella against one particular brick and stood back as the wall rearranged itself. "Now don't you be worriting, Dudley. You'll not have to wear a purple turban, I'm sure. Wouldn't suit you at all."  
Harry peered through the archway, half curious and half trying to hide the grin at the thought of Dudley in the nervous young man's costume. He stumbled slightly as Hagrid herded Dudley and he through the archway and held it open for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.  
"Welcome," pronounced Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."  
  
By the time the party made it as far as Gringotts, Vernon Dursley was feeling rather overwhelmed. Nobody had mentioned that there were quite so many witches and wizards. He'd always thought they were few and far between. Nobody had told him that wizards preferred to live in something resembling the 14th Century, either. Why wouldn't you use electricity, if you could? Definitely, nobody had mentioned anything about non-human sentient species either.  
Vernon Dursley would be buying a muggle guide book very shortly. And if one didn't exist, he'd be writing one.  
  
In Gringotts, once everyone had gotten over the existence of goblins, Hagrid bustled up to a counter and leant forward to talk to the goblin. Hagrid was apparently inured to all sorts of things that Harry and Dudley found bizarre; he was totally oblivious to the goblin grading a wheelbarrow full of rubies next to him.   
Harry was so fascinated by Gringotts that he was quite taken by surprise when Hagrid yelled his name. "Oy, Harry! Come over here!"  
Harry dragged his attention from the fascinating little man trying to pay in moths three counters over; he kept turning them into gold and the goblin kept turning them back. "Yes, Hagrid?" asked Harry.  
"Stand still and let the goblin take a look at you," muttered Hagrid. "Mrs Dursley! Dudley!"  
The attentions of the Dursley family were still firmly focused on the wheelbarrow of rubies. Hagrid mumbled something that sounded like "Merlin!" into his beard and walked over to fetch them.  
The goblin looked very carefully at each one of them and said, "Well, that would all seem to be in order. Griphook!"   
A smaller, younger looking goblin appeared out of the throng. "Vaults 713, 1843 and 123, Griphook. You had better take two or three carts."  
"Yes sir," said Griphook, and ushered them through one of the small doors into a torchlit, rocky corridor. At the end of the corridor was a miniature railway. Harry bounced up and down excitedly. Aunt Rose had let him come with her once, and he had loved it.  
Petunia Dursley had been here once before as well. She had come with her older sisters, both of whom had been Quidditch players. She did not remember the ride fondly; in fact she was already feeling a little queasy.  
Holding tightly on to Vernon's hand, Petunia climbed into the middle cart, sat down, locked one arm around the grab rail and firmly shut her eyes.  
Vernon Dursley looked at these preparations and at Hagrid anchoring himself similarly in the last cart and wedged himself very securely in one corner of the cart.   
"You'll like this," said Harry quietly. "It's even better than that roller coaster thingy you went on last year."  
"Really?" queried Dudley. "Hey, how would you know? You never went on it!"  
Harry scampered into the last cart with Hagrid and stood where he thought he'd get the best view. "C'mon Dudley! It's great, honest."  
They plummeted ever downwards through the maze, switching left and right at random, and once in a direction Harry could only think of as inside out. Eventually, the cart slowed to a halt and stopped by a small niche in the wall. Griphook hopped nimbly out of the cart and grunted, "Mrs Petunia Dursley. Key."  
Aunt Petunia seemed to know what she was doing, thought Harry. She was looking rather green, but she'd pulled herself together enough to climb out of the cart and hand the goblin her key.  
"Mr Hagrid?" she asked, watching suspiciously as Griphook opened her vault.  
"Aye?" Hagrid rumbled, sounding almost as queasy as Aunt Petunia looked.  
"How much do things cost these days?"  
Harry peered curiously into the vault. There was a pretty big heap of shiny gold coins sitting in one corner of the vault, and a pile of papers and other oddments in another. Harry was a little disappointed. He'd been rather hoping for something dramatic.  
Hagrid leant one hand on Harry's shoulder and pushed back into a seat. "Little more than you're used to, Mrs Dursley, at least for school stuff. Now if you wanted unicorn horn, well that's very expensive these days." Hagrid seemed all set to ramble on but Petunia was ignoring him and gathering together a couple of handfuls of coin. She looked at it in consideration and added another. Harry rather had the impression that she was determined to put off coming back to Gringotts as long as possible.  
Griphook closed up the vault and they were off again, deeper under London. They passed through an open cavern over a lake and ran through yet more of the twisty tunnels. Harry looked down all the tunnels he could. He'd been told when he was a child that they kept dragons at Gringotts and he'd always wanted to see one.  
Slowing for a second time, Griphook summoned Hagrid. There was still nothing dramatic; all that was in vault 713 was a cloth wrapped package that vanished into one of Hagrid's many pockets.  
As they slowed for the third time, Hagrid pulled a soft leather bag from a pocket and passed it to Harry. "You'll want a good handful of the gold ones, now, and some of the silver and bronze ones too." Hagrid looked dubiously at Harry's small hands and sighed. "Well, we can always come back."  
Harry peeked around the corner of the vault door as it opened and almost fell over in surprise. The shiny gold coins didn't come in heaps here, they came in boxes. Large boxes. Harry heard Dudley mutter, "Mum! He's got more than us!" and shuddered.  
There were what looked like a few personal items in one box, but he reckoned that this wasn't a good time to browse. Harry hastily stuffed a handful of each kind of coin in the bag and added a second of the gold ones for luck. He stuffed the bag into the corner of his satchel where he kept the things he didn't want the Dursleys to find and climbed back into the cart.  
  
Back on the surface, Harry tucked himself in almost against Hagrid's side. The Dursley family were not happy with him. Uncle Vernon's eye's were tracking Harry's satchel closely, and he'd seen Aunt Petunia watching where Hagrid put his key.  
Hagrid didn't seem to notice. "Blimey. I hate that, I really do. Harry, Dudley, you mind if we go and get a little pick me up? Back in an hour? Good. Got your list? Don't worry about your animal for now, we'll do that last. Rightio!"  
Harry watched as Hagrid grabbed Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and steered them back towards the Leaky Cauldron. "Shall we do our robes first, Dudley?"  
Dudley stared venomously at Harry. "How come you've got all that gold?"  
Harry blinked. "Uh, I don't know. You know as much about my parents as I do. Come on, let's at least get our robes before they get back and you end up with something really cute in the way of pyjamas."  
Dudley too remembered the tweety pie pyjamas and that was enough for him. He stalked off towards the apothecary, tossing one final comment over his shoulder. "I bet your parents stole that money."  
Harry shook his head and headed for Madam Malkins. At least this way, Dudley wouldn't know exactly what he bought.  
  
"Can I help you, dear?" asked the witch behind the counter.   
Harry flushed, fishing out his list. "Uh, I need robes and stuff.."  
The witch smiled. "Is that for Hogwarts?" When Harry nodded, she led him through into another room. "Won't be a minute dear, we're just finishing up Mr Malfoy here."  
Harry looked around him. Standing on a stool in the middle of the room was a pale blond boy in a pinned up black robe. He was looking very superciliously at Harry's scruffy t-shirt and shorts.  
"Aren't you a little young for Hogwarts?" he asked. His voice was drawling and something about him reminded Harry of Dudley.  
Harry frowned. "I just turned eleven. How old are you?"  
The boy grimaced. "Eleven too. You are very small, you know."  
"I know," Harry said gloomily.  
The boy's lips twitched. "We should stick together. You'll make me look tall, and I'll make you look 9 or 10 instead of 8. Merlin's toenails, what is that?"  
Harry blinked and followed the boy's gaze out of the window. Dudley was staring in the window of the sweet shop opposite. "Is it human, do you think?"  
Harry said, repressively, "That's my cousin."  
"Oh. I'm sorry."  
"So am I."  
  
"So, err, could you do me a favour, maybe?" Harry muttered.  
The boy's sneer came back. "What is it?"  
Harry flushed and said through gritted teeth, "What do people wear under their robes?"  
"Oh," said the boy. "I didn't think you were muggle born. Usually only wizards dress that badly."  
"I'm not muggle born, but I've been living with muggles since I was five."  
The boy looked at Harry's set expression and said, "Most of the people I know just wear robes. I think lots of people wear muggle clothes underneath them. Either way, you'll need something to wear weekends and evenings."  
"Thanks," said Harry. "I'm Harry."  
"Draco."  
  
20 minutes later, Harry was the proud owner of 3 work robes, plain black, 1 winter cloak, plain black, 7 pairs or socks, plain black, 7 boxer shorts, plain black and two pairs of pyjamas, plain black. Draco had advised him not to go overboard with the colours until he got sorted; he wouldn't want to get all red jumpers and end up in Slytherin, after all. Harry suspected that getting all black wasn't what Draco had meant, but as he was only getting the absolute essentials until he saw how the money went, he wasn't too worried.   
Harry stuffed his bags into the satchel, not even thinking about how they might fit, and nipped next door to the cobblers.   
Harry wandered in to the bookshop while he was waiting for his boots. He tried to stick to the reading list, he really did, but somehow it just didn't work. Still, it all fitted into his satchel, and there was plenty of room for his boots and his potions kit.  
Harry had intended to spend his last 10 minutes looking in Quality Quidditch Supplies, but on the way there he spotted Dudley. Harry dodged into the nearest shop, trying to avoid spending any time alone with him, and found himself in Ollivanders, being inspected thoroughly by a little man who made him feel even more uncomfortable than the goblins.  
"My. Yes. I wondered when we'd be seeing you , Mr Potter."  
  
Back on Diagon Alley, Harry mentally ran through his list. He just needed his telescope and maybe a pet.   
Harry wandered back towards Gringotts, trying to spot Hagrid. He was pretty sure his hour must be about up. He was just passing the bank when a large hand landed on his shoulder. Harry yelped and turned around as fast as he could.  
"Hagrid! You scared me half to death!"  
Hagrid grinned. "How's the shopping coming along, Harry?"  
"Pretty much done, Hagrid. Just got to get my telescope and a pet," Harry beamed.  
Hagrid looked dubiously at the small boy. "Where'd you put it all, then?"  
Harry frowned. "In my bag, of course." Spotting Hagrid's darkening expression he said, "Look, I'll show you."  
Harry undid the satchel and pulled out the first thing that came to mind, his cauldron. "See?"  
Hagrid's frown deepened. "Right. Sorry Harry, I'm a bit distracted. Uh, is that a bit heavy, with all your books and stuff?"  
"No, it's just the same as usual," grinned Harry looking down the road and spotting the Dursleys making a bold foray into Flourish and Blotts. "Can we have some ice cream?"  
"Ice cream. Yeah, that's a good idea, Harry," said Hagrid, rather numbly.  
  
Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour was the best place Harry had ever been. The Vanilla and Greengage Swirl was the perfect food (Harry hadn't been able to choose, so he'd just spun around three times and pointed). The only way this could possibly get any better would be if he went back into Gringotts, down to his vault, got another 18 knuts and bought another ice cream.  
Harry had suggested this program to Hagrid. Hagrid had looked more than a little green and said, "What, you never spent all that already, did you?"  
Harry shook his head. "No. I just want another ride on that train thingy."  
Turning even greener, Hagrid pushed his ice cream across to Harry. "You just need a telescope and a pet, right?"  
Harry nodded, mouth full. "Oh, yeah, parchment and ink and stuff too. I forgot that."  
Hagrid shook his head and hauled Harry away from the ice cream shop before he made himself sick.  
  
Vernon Dursley found the whole Diagon Alley experience somewhat distressing. First, there was the fire-whisky. That had definitely been a mistake. Second, there'd been mentioning the brat to that monstrosity of a barman. How was he supposed to know that the skinny little reject was this new worlds hero. It wasn't like the boy had ever mentioned it. The third difficulty was that bloody bookshop.   
Getting in the door had been easy enough. Getting Duddykins text books had just been a matter of saying "Hogwarts" and "First year" to the clerk. He'd then made the mistake of asking after introductions to the wizarding world for muggles.  
The clerk had listed three books, in three different locations. Petunia and himself had had no difficulty in locating two of them, but Dudley, in pursuit of the third, had gotten rather stuck between the shelves and had to be rescued by a very supercilious blond man. The blond had been most unpleasant, but Vernon could smell the right kind of people a mile off, and Lucius Malfoy was most definitely the right kind of person.  
Problem four had been the wand makers. That freak, Ollivander, had had the cheek to upset his Dudders by calling him "Harry Potter's cousin" instead of Mr Dursley. He'd called the other child in the shop Mr Zabini, which was a lot harder to say than Dursley.  
Vernon thought that he might have to sit Dudley down and explain the saviour_ of_ the_ wizarding_ world thing to him. He didn't really want to, it would damage poor Duddy's self confidence, but he should know what he was getting in to. Yes. That was it.  
Vernon wondered if the boy was coming home with them.  
  
Hagrid dropped the four of them back at Little Whinging Station, just by Vernon's car. "See you in a month, Harry, Dudley. Nice to meet you, Mr Dursley, Mrs Dursley," Hagrid had then vanished.  
The Dursley's had instantly turned to Harry.  
Harry had clutched the cage containing his owl to his chest and backed away slowly, satchel banging on his hip.  
"Where do you think you're going, boy?" asked Vernon.  
Harry looked nervously from one to the other. "Away..."  
Petunia smiled. "But, Harry dear, we can't have you running around on your own, think what trouble you might get into."  
Harry's expression became even more edgy. "I'm sure I'll be fine, Aunt Petunia."  
"Don't be silly, boy. Dudley can help you study, so you won't be too far behind in classes."  
Dudley threw a terror stricken glance at his father. He was rather hoping things would carry on as they were, with Harry doing his homework for him.  
Harry, watching Dudley, completely missed Uncle Vernon's pounce.  
Petunia smiled absently. "Shall we go home now, dears?" she asked. "It'll be nice to have a home cooked dinner again."  
  
  
  
**A/N: **I don't know. Some of the ideas in this chapter might actually belong in another fic I'm thinking of. Do me a favour, review another chapter if you're talking about the whole sequence? I may be pulling this one and rewriting it.  
Thanks  



	3. Exit Harry, on Tiptoe

**Warning:** First Fic! AU, small amounts of non-explicit HarryTorture, de-sanctification of several adult characters.  
**Disclaimer:** The usual. I do a nice line in white coats for any one who thinks I own these people.  
**A/N:** A few later aspects of this fic were inspired by March Madness's Fugitive Prince, which is a fantastic creation well worth reading. Major grovel, by the way. For some reason I attributed this to Myr in the first two chapters - I'm sorry!  
  
Wow! Reviews really do make you write faster! 12000 words, pretty much, in 2 and a half days. No wonder the dishes are piling up!  
  
  
**3. Exit Harry, On Tiptoe.  
**   
It had never occurred to Harry that being locked out of his cellar would be just as big a problem as being locked in.  
Since the trip to Diagon Alley last week, Harry had been let out of the cellar to make breakfast and do the chores every morning. Once Uncle Vernon had eaten and scanned the post, he would wander down stairs to the cellar and poke through Harry's things. Frustrated by his inability to pull anything besides Harry's hand-me-down clothes from Harry's satchel, Vernon would kick at Hedwig's cage and stomp out of the room, locking the door behind him.  
Harry would then be stuck for the rest of the day. Sometimes, Aunt Petunia would give him a list of chores, and sometimes she'd do the housework herself, leaving him no option but to 'study' with Dudley.  
Studying with Dudley involved picking a subject, suggesting it to Dudley and then running. Sometimes, studying with Dudley involved running from Piers Polkiss and Dudley's other school friends too, but as Piers didn't really like being called a muggle this didn't happen too often.  
After dinner, at which Harry now got a whole half portion, Harry would be tossed back into the cellar. Once he was sure Uncle Vernon had gone away, Harry would pull out his own books and do some actual reading. At dusk, Harry would wrap himself up in his blanket and his winter cloak and go to sleep.  
  
On Saturday, the first full day on which Uncle Vernon had been home since the visit to Diagon Alley, Harry realised that the Dursley family had not really hated him before.  
As far as Harry could tell, the Dursleys had regarded him as a large piece of mostly useful but occasionally recalcitrant machinery. If he stopped working, they gave him a good kicking and yelled at him and thought no more of it. If he broke, they fixed him, and that was that.  
  
Since Diagon Alley, the Dursleys had actually been looking at Harry.  
  
Vernon Dursley peered over his newspaper for long enough to push his fork into another sausage.  
"So, Dudley, my boy, how are the hexes coming along?" asked Vernon, mouth full.  
Dudley scowled. He'd bullied Petunia into buying him '1001 Grossest Hexes of All Time: Revolt your Friends and Enemies Alike.' Unfortunately, very few of the curses were beginner level and as the book was sorted by technique, (medical, transfiguration, charms and so on) followed by body part, it was a little difficult to find the easy ones. "It's fine, Dad," he muttered. "Look what I did to Harry yesterday."  
Vernon's attention turned to the brat. He was leaning against the wall, looking rather sickly and occasionally burping bubbles. "Well done, Dudley. That looks very uncomfortable. What are you going to do next?"  
Dudley threw Harry a glare that Harry interpreted as 'If you mention that Piers and I made you drink two bottles of shampoo I will ensure that you die a lingering and painful death,' only without the longer words. "I don't know yet, Dad. I'm a little tired, you know."  
Petunia turned from her letters to her son. "You shouldn't strain yourself, Duddykins. Magic is very tiring, especially when you're just starting out. I remember my sisters just beginning to learn."  
  
At this point, Harry made one of the larger mistakes of his life. "Aunt Petunia," he said, "What was my mother like?"  
Uncle Vernon choked.  
Dudley paled.  
Harry opened his mouth to retract the question and then thought better of it.  
Aunt Petunia turned a cold, angry stare on Harry. "Your mother was a spoilt, stupid little tramp who wasn't worth the air she breathed, let alone the attention she got from the rest of the family. Frankly, even with James' blood to dilute the mix, I'm amazed you aren't even more useless than you are. I had expected you to be deformed and brain damaged, the way your mother acted while she was pregnant. I was glad when she died."  
Harry slid to the floor. He was feeling very sick now, and it wasn't just the shampoo. "But..."  
"Boy, stop upsetting your Aunt this instant! She's spent six years babying you, providing for your every need, and what does she get? A pittance, that's what, a pittance. And from your trustees, not even from you! You're a disgrace, boy, even to your mother you'd be a disgrace! Just because you're rich and famous, doesn't mean you can be rude to your relatives!" Vernon's newspaper slid from his lap as he stood up. He stalked round the table and picked the boy up by his shirt. "You will learn respect for your elders!" he hissed, shaking the boy violently.  
"Duddykins, open the cellar door please."  
Dudley smirked unpleasantly at Harry before taking the key and squeezing down the stairs. Harry could hear the clang as Dudley slammed the door open and Dudley clumping about in his room. Hedwig was screeching.  
Vernon, face livid, hissed, "It's for your own good, boy. If only you'd learn respect, we wouldn't have to do this."  
Harry was still gaping at that when Uncle Vernon tossed him down the stairs. He was vaguely aware of Dudley kicking him into the cellar and of the door slamming, and then there was nothing.  
  
There was something dry and cool against his forehead. Hedwig was hooting softly, and it was dark. Harry blinked.  
"Awake, are you?" asked a low, sibilant voice. "I was beginning to worry."  
Harry lifted his hand to his head, trying to work out what was going on. His fingers encountered the smooth coils of a snake. "Ethan?"  
"Hello again, Harry."  
"Hello." Harry paused, "I'm sorry, but I don't quite feel up to lifting you out just at the moment."  
Ethan made a strange sibilant snicker that Harry took some while to recognise as a laugh. "That's all right, friend. We'll deal with that later." The snake shifted its weight. "Do you think you could get to your blanket? I don't think you should sleep on the floor."  
Harry lay still a moment, assessing. "I think so." Harry rolled carefully over onto his side and brought his knees up. Pushing up on his good arm, Harry made it to almost sitting without too much trouble. The dim room swayed around him, and it took some while to work out where everything was.   
Crawling slowly, it took Harry a good ten minutes to reach his satchel and bring it to his blanket.  
Ethan slithered along beside him, hissing encouragingly. "Good. Now, you get better, all right?"  
Harry smiled weakly at the snakes determined tone. "What are you going to do?"  
"I will bite anyone who tries to come in. I, unlike those South American morons, know when I have venom."  
Harry blinked. "South American morons? Hey, did you ask them to bite Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?"  
Ethan hissed irritably and slunk back towards Harry. "What are you talking about?" he muttered unconvincingly. "Hey, hurry up and get better already."  
Harry giggled, then stopped because it hurt his ribs. Carefully, he fished in the satchel for the extra oddments he'd bought in the apothecary.  
He tried to remember the shapes of the bottles, but it was difficult. He'd need to take most of them, but the order was important.  
  
The witch who'd been manning the remedies counter had been dressed in a cheerful yellow robe. It had distracted him from the stock for a moment. He'd had to ask.   
"Miss?"  
She'd smiled down at him, kindly. "Can I help you?"  
"Um, well," Harry had paused. Joey had given him advice for situations like this. Harmless, innocent, and on an errand for an adult. "My Aunt, well, we need to restock the first aid kit, and I lost the list, and well, could you help, please?" Harry looked up at the witch, trying to look cute, innocent and above all too young to be doing anything nefarious.  
"Oh, dear. Well, I suppose you'll be wanting Pepper up potion, and something for cuts and bruises, and something for fevers and snuffles and so on. Do you remember any bottle shapes, or colours, or tastes?" The witch pulled down a heavy, round bottle with a cut glass stopper and a neatly printed label saying Pepper up potion.  
"What's Pepper up potion?" asked Harry, looking adorably confused.  
The witch sighed. "The one that wakes you up and gets rid of headaches. It makes steam come out of your ears, remember?"  
Harry grinned and nodded. "It's funny." He paused, head cocked at the precise angle Joey had had him practice for maximum cuteness. "My Aunts a squib. Does that make any difference?"  
  
In the cellar, Harry's fingers closed on a heavy round bottle with a cut glass stopper.  
  
"Yes, dear. Oh, not for the little things, you know. But you can't use Skele-grow without the proper spells, you'd get in a right old mess. You'd better have Sleep-ease and Bone-meal." The witch looked at the puppy dog eyes and explained again. "Sleep-ease is a painkiller, just a gentle one, won't interfere with anything the doctor'll give you and it's not addictive. Bone-meal is just that, things to help feed your bones so they heal on their own faster. Won't get in the way of Skele-grow either."  
The witch looked again at the little imp. She had kids of her own and she just knew this one was a demon. "You'll want Ice-right for burns, and Scaraway for cuts. Oh, and maybe a nice comfrey poultice for bruises."  
The imp nodded, looking intently at the row of bottles.  
  
Harry's fingers closed around the tall, green bottle of Scaraway. Carefully, he took two sips.  
It hurt. It hurt more than getting the cuts did. It felt almost like every single half healed cut on his whole body had burst open before vanishing.  
Harry took a long moment to catch his breath before hitting the Pepper up Potion.  
  
"Whoa!" said Ethan, looking at the steam pouring from Harry's ears and the agonised expression on his face. "Is it meant to do that?"  
Harry took a few very deep breaths. "Sort of. Think I should have done the ribs, first."  
Ethan looked at him in consideration. "Probably."  
"Thanks," said Harry, glaring darkly at the snake. "Look, if I lift you up to the window, do you think you could find me a stick?"  
"What for?"  
Harry looked at his arm. "I think I ought to splint this."  
"It's not bent."  
"I know. But I still think I ought to."  
Ethan hissed in exasperation. "Stubborn brat, aren't you?"  
"Yes," said Harry, firmly.  
Ethan squirmed back towards the door. "Anyway, the answer's no."  
"No? Why not?"  
"Because you can't lift me up at the moment. And besides, I might have mentioned where you live to a few friends of mine and some of them might be dropping by."  
Harry glared at the snake. "Might?"  
"Well, technically speaking. You don't know. I might have, or I might not have. Might is the appropriate word," Ethan said smugly.  
Harry seriously considered getting up and throttling Ethan. "You know. Therefore, for you, might is not the right word."  
Ethan settled in the shadow beside the door. "All right, all right. Maybe have would have been better. Or even will. Happy now?"  
"Not really."  
Harry took his Bone-meal and half a dose of Sleep-ease and hauled himself into the loo. It took him half an hour to wash the blood and dirt off in the tiny sink and he didn't really feel that he'd done a particularly good job.  
Back on his bed, Harry wondered why Ethan was smirking until he spotted the smooth stick lying under the window.  
Bandaged and poulticed, Harry crawled into a pair of Dudley's old pyjamas and thought longingly of his properly fitting black linen ones.  
  
Harry woke up the way he usually did, to Aunt Petunia's shrill voice yelling at him to make the breakfast.  
Ah, thought Harry morosely, being the utterly useless spawn of the devil doesn't seem to disqualify me from cooking. Shame.  
At this point, Harry noticed something a little unusual. Warm hadn't been so strange since he'd started sleeping in his winter cloak, but today he was not only warm, there was something warm and comforting snuggled up to his sides and across his chest.  
"Good morning Harry."  
"Mornin' Ethan." mumbled Harry.  
"Good morning," "Bright day," "Hiya," "What time do you bastards call this?" "Guhmorninnnnn," "Hello."  
Harry opened his eyes. For some reason there was a whole family of adders tucked into his cloak with him. "Hello," said Harry, wondering if this was what a hug felt like.  
"Harry," hissed Ethan reproachfully, "Go back to sleep."  
"But, breakfast, Aunt Petunia."  
"I do not think," said the smallest snake, "that the thin bad smelling one will bother you today."  
Harry considered what he must look like with half a dozen poisonous snakes draped over him. It would probably be best to go back to sleep with his hands over his ears, he decided.  
  
The peony on the left was looking a little floppy, thought Petunia. She'd staked the bushes only three days ago, but peony flowers were so heavy. Obviously, she hadn't supported them enough.  
Turning back to the kitchen, Petunia surveyed breakfast. All she actually wanted this morning was a bowl of cereal and some fruit. Still, Vernon and Dudley needed their food, so bacon and eggs it would have to be.  
The brat could cook.   
She might not want anything to do with the child, but as long as he was here, he might as well be useful.   
Yes. The brat could cook. If he messed up, she was sure her Dudley would punish him properly.  
  
It was a little known fact that Petunia Dursley loathed snakes. On the occasion of her son's eleventh birthday, she had been dragged into the reptile house by sheer will. Determined that nothing would spoil Duddykin's birthday, she had 'borrowed' a tablet or two from Mrs Ellis' prozac supply at the garden club meeting the previous Tuesday.  
The prozac had been all that got her in to the reptile house. It, and it's interference with the action of the anti-venin had been the reason she had nearly exited the reptile house feet first.  
  
Vernon Dursley was awakened at half past eight on Sunday morning by a blood curdling scream. Lurching down the stairs towards his poor Petunia, Vernon cursed the day he'd taken in that brat. They should just have thrown him straight back out, like Petunia had suggested. He shouldn't have let the stipend sway him.  
"Petunia? Dear, where are you?"  
Vernon clattered in to the kitchen and spotted the open cellar door immediately. He ran, puffing gently for the stairs.   
At the bottom, glassy eyed and shaking, but still upright, was Petunia Dursley. Her fixed gaze was trained on the corner where Harry usually slept.  
Vernon took hold of her shoulders and shook her gently. "Dear?" There was no response.  
Vernon glanced over his wife's shoulder and froze himself. Asleep or unconscious in the corner, wrapped up in a Hogwarts cloak, was the boy. Curled on top and around him were half a dozen small, slender snakes. Every single one of them had their heads raised and their eyes trained on Petunia. Every single one of them had their tongue out and flickering.  
Vernon reacted without thought. He pulled Petunia away from the doorway, slammed the door shut, locked and snapped the key off in the lock.  
"Come on, Pet, let's get you upstairs. Maybe we could go and see Doctor Abrahams, once you've had a sit down." He tugged Petunia gently back up the stairs, and never gave another thought to the boy in the cellar.  
  
Harry, awake enough to register the sound of the key snapping in the lock as a bad thing, said sleepily, "Like your plan, Eth."  
Ethan grimaced as well as he was able. "Well, hell."  
  
Dudley, informed that he would have to make his own breakfast, as the brat was now very incarcerated and Petunia was headed for the hospital, decided that cocoa pops were something he could and should eat loudly while sitting on the stairs to Harry's cellar.  
"Oh," said Dudley, lifting up a spoonful and pouring it back in to the bowl, "can you hear that, freak? I bet you can. Have you ever eaten cereal with milk, shrimp? It's delicious. Sugar too, I bet you've never eaten cereal with sugar."  
Dudley chomped loudly for some minutes, much to Harry's annoyance. "I'm going to go upstairs now, Harry. There's cake and sweets waiting. Don't worry , I'll be right down again, so you can hear me eat them."  
Stomping up the stairs, Dudley was struck with an idea of such genius he couldn't resist putting it to use immediately. He yelled back down the stairs, loudly, "Is there anything else you'd like to hear me eat, freak? Any last requests?" In to the silence that followed, Dudley said, "Suit yourself, freak. When Dad gets back he's gonna gas those snakes and you won't get another chance."  
Dudley stomped happily up the rest of the stairs, whistling.  
  
In the cellar, Ethan said hurriedly, "He's lying."  
Harry gritted his teeth, "Yes, I know. that doesn't mean Uncle Vernon won't think its a great idea when he comes back."  
"Point taken."  
  
The first phase of Operation Get The Bloody Hell Out Of Here Now involved breaking Hedwig out of her cage, as there was no way it would fit through the window.  
Fortunately, Vernon had added a muggle padlock rather than using the cage's own lock, and that gave Harry just enough space to wrench the door of it's hinges. It cost him several broken finger nail and two skinned knuckles, and he had to sacrifice his splint to use as a lever, but it did work.  
Phase two involved Harry hurriedly packing everything, including his shoes, and putting the birdcage under the window. The birdcage was a lot taller than the heap of books had been.  
Harry climbed up on the cage, trying to keep his weight evenly distributed. He could easily reach the window now.  
Hagrid carefully picked up Ethan, and passed him to Harry, and Harry helped him out of the window.   
It only took five minutes to evacuate the rest of the snakes and another two to get Hedwig and Harry's satchel out. Hedwig's wingspan was too big for her to fly through the window; she had to land on Harry's fist and step out. Even then it was difficult; the window was wider than it was tall and Hedwig just wasn't built that way.  
Getting Harry out proved to be difficult. He just couldn't get a good kick off the birdcage, or a good yank on the window frame. Harry was about ready to panic when Hedwig shuffled back under the shrub, dragging the end of the hose pipe with her.  
"Hedwig," said Harry, yanking hard on the end of the pipe in the hopes of jamming it somewhere, "you are a genius."  
Harry had to pull through almost half of the hose before it snagged. He quickly made a loop about two feet above the top of the birdcage and passed the end back to Hedwig to tangle up somewhere.  
Slipping and sliding, Harry scrambled through the window and in to the bush. He lay panting on the ground for a few moments and then sat up.  
"So, does anyone want a lift?"  
  
Harry left Privet Drive with a snake on each forearm and another under his shirt. Ethan had decided to give Hogwarts a whirl, and the other two just wanted a lift to the other side of town. That was fine with Harry. He wasn't really in any hurry.  
He had three weeks to get to London.  



	4. Enter a Host, From all Sides

**Warning: **First Fic! AU, small amounts of non-explicit HarryTorture, de-sanctification of several adult characters.  
**Disclaimer:** The usual. I do a nice line in white coats for any one who thinks I own these people.  
**A/N: **A few later aspects of this fic were inspired by March Madness's Fugitive Prince, which is a fantastic creation well worth reading.   
Otaku freak, the answer to your question is in here somewhere!  
Lady Foxfire, 1st question, not for a while - Harry really doesn't trust adults. He might tell some of the other kids soonish. 2nd question, beginning to be addressed in this one. Harry and somebody else you'll meet this chapter are due a long talk, and that'll come up then.  
  
**4. Enter a Host, from All Sides.  
**   
Harry was early. Very early, in fact. He wanted to be sure he could avoid at least Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.  
Washed, brushed and combed, Harry didn't look a lot like himself. In fact, despite the fact that Harry's hair stuck up every which way and his glasses were falling to pieces, Harry looked almost neat.  
He blamed Dudley.  
Dudley was always growing, either upwards, outwards, or both. Since he didn't really do anything physical, his clothes were usually still in good condition by the time he grew out of them.  
Harry had found a clothing exchange shop.  
Harry now had clothes that fit. Mostly.  
As he was so small, there hadn't actually been that much that fit him and wasn't obviously designed for much younger children. After teasing Dudley over Tweety-pie, he didn't think he could get away with cartoon characters, so Harry had ended up taking Draco's advice again.   
Harry was now the proud owner of three pairs of trousers, one black, one grey, one white, three jumpers, two grey, one black, and eight t-shirts. Seven of the t-shirts were black or white, but the eighth, carefully hidden at the very bottom of the bag, was dark red. It had a drawing of a dog in a mask and gi, and the legend, 'No. 1 Superguy' on it. Harry would never, ever dare wear it, but he hadn't been able to resist.  
Sitting at the bottom of a pillar in King's Cross Station, satchel on his shoulder, Ethan round his arm, Harry was pretending to read a muggle paperback. Every now and then, Harry would look up at the clock, frown, and go back to his book.  
To a passer-by, Harry looked exactly like a muggle child waiting to be met by someone.  
In fact, Harry had no interest in the time. He knew he was very early. He was checking on Hedwig, who was gliding about the upper reaches of the station, trying to pick the tastiest looking pigeon.  
Harry was also keeping an eye out for anyone who might be able to show him exactly how to get on to Platform 9 3/4. So far he hadn't had much luck on his own.  
At half past nine, Harry looked up from 'Much Ado About Nothing' just in time to see three pale blondes sweep past him, trailed by a trolley pushing itself. No-one seemed to notice.  
Harry looked more carefully at the blond family. They were all very well dressed, and Harry thought that if Uncle Vernon was here he'd be sucking up to them like crazy.   
"Did we have to come this way, Lucius? So tiresome," drawled the woman.  
The man, Lucius, placed a hand on her shoulder. "Narcissa dear, we'll portkey in at Christmas. Draco should use the barrier at least once." He looked about him. "After you, my dear."  
The pale woman walked regally into the pillar between platform 9 and 10. Instead of scraping her nose, she vanished.  
Interesting, thought Harry, listening carefully as Lucius advised Draco to shut his eyes if he was nervous and not to hesitate. Lucius' tone of voice made it very clear that Draco had better not either hesitate or close his eyes.  
Harry winced. The Dursleys might be awful, but at least they didn't have expectations of him.  
Harry turned the page, eyes flicking downwards so at least he knew where he was. Don Pedro had just decided to set up Beatrice and Benedick. Harry shook his head. He just didn't understand why those two would want to be around each other; it was very tiring to fight all the time.   
Harry looked up as a shadow crossed his page. The blond man was looking down at him, a small frown on his face. "My son tells me that you are on your way to Hogwarts, also."  
Harry looked around him, frantically. Draco was mouthing something that looked like 'sorry!' from behind Lucius.  
"Yes," said Harry, moving his book into his left hand and sticking out his right. "I'm Harry."  
Lucius' gaze flicked up and down the boy. Shabby, very shabby, but at least neat and clean. He took the boy's hand. It was small and thin, and very callused. "Lucius Malfoy. Pleased to meet you, Mr..?"  
Harry blushed. "Oh, sorry! It's Potter, but nobody ever call's me that. Please, call me Harry."  
"Harry Potter?" said Lucius Malfoy, face frozen. Draco hadn't mentioned that. "Surely not. Both the Potters were quite tall."  
Harry's flush deepened. He hated being reminded he was short. "Did you know my parents, sir?"  
"We met. One does. I wouldn't say we were friends."  
"Oh," said Harry, retrieving his hand. "Would you mind telling me about them? Just a little bit? If you have time?"  
Lucius looked down at the child. "I do not think I would be the best person to do that, Mr Potter. Come, where is your trunk? Let us get you on to the platform."  
"My name's Harry, sir. And I don't have a trunk."   
Lucius' lips twitched. Stubborn tone aside, the child was half an inch from pouting at him. "Where are your things, then?"  
Harry pulled his satchel in front of him and slid the book back into it.  
"I see," said Lucius. "Let us be off."  
  
Platform 9 and 3/4 was very old fashioned, thought Harry. It had scrolled ironwork and benches. It had porters and rubbish bins. It had a steam train.  
The steam train was scarlet, hissing gently and smelling of mineral oils and coal fires.  
Harry was hooked. He'd never even dreamed of seeing a steam train before, let alone riding on one. Even if he had to share every class and his room with Dudley, it would be worth it.  
  
Lucius Malfoy watched the boy run ahead, trailing his fingers along the doors and heading inevitably for the engine, his owl swooping excitedly around his head.  
"I thought you said you met him in Madam Malkin's?" he said, coolly.  
Draco nodded. "Yes, father. The satchel seems to be enchanted."  
"I see. Still, he will need a trunk." Lucius glanced up at the clock. "I will see to it. Was there anything else he needed?"  
Draco shrugged. "His clothes were all his cousin's rejects. He wanted to know what people wore under robes."  
"I see." Lucius flicked another glance at the boy. "I shall have the elves pack up a few of your old things. Give them to him or not as you see fit."  
"Yes, father."  
"Be his friend. Do not worry about converting him as yet, just make sure he does not become completely narrow minded."  
"Yes, father."  
"The cousin is that whale of a boy with the appalling parents, correct?"  
Draco nodded. "Dursley. Dudley Dursley. Harry dislikes him."  
"Yes. Take control of him. Do not compromise your friendship with Harry to do so. If there is a choice between the two, keep Potter. I shall be dealing with his parents, so the troll is relatively unimportant." Lucius looked again at the clock. "I want you to observe the relationship with the other cousin; I need to know why Harry left and if he is likely to return."  
Draco nodded, making a mental note to find out who Harry's other cousin was.  
"Good," said Lucius. "Say goodbye to your mother. I will see you at Christmas. Owl if you need anything."  
  
"Yes, Father," snarled Draco, heaving one end of his trunk onto the step under the carriage door. "No, Father," he grunted as he yanked it up far enough to catch the doorway. "Three fucking bags full, Father."  
Draco eyed his trunk venomously and set his feet. He bent both knees, wrapped both hands around the end handle and heaved as hard as he could, spewing curses with every ounce of spare breath. "How in Merlin's name am I supposed to be friends with teeny-weeny aren't I cute saviour of the fucking world pretty boy Potter and with his trollspawn cousin, father?"  
"What's trollspawn?" asked Harry. "It sounds like a good word for Dudley."  
Draco let go of the trunk in surprise and consequently fell over. Harry, rather used to disasters of this nature, put his shoulder underneath the trunk and pushed. The trunk teetered and dropped, missing Draco's toe by millimetres.   
"Trollspawn," said Draco, to the tuft of black hair that was all he could see of Harry, "is either a half-breed between a troll and a human, or a very rude word for someone who looks like they ought to be a half-breed. You shouldn't use it. It would disrupt your cute image."  
Harry frowned, climbing up on top of Draco's trunk. "I'm not cute."  
Draco coughed sarcastically. He raised one eyebrow and purred, "Do tell."  
"I'm pretending to be cute. Old people are nicer to you if you're cute."  
"Potter, you are cute from the ends of your ridiculous hair to the tips of your undoubtedly tiny little toes. You can't help it. You are doomed to be picked up and hugged by smelly old ladies with no teeth for the rest of your short and tragic lifespan."  
Harry looked owlishly at Draco where he still lay on the floor. "Short and tragic lifespan?"  
"Yes."  
"I see. Is this where I insult you right back, and then we get married?"  
Draco coughed, choked on nothing, and then coughed again. When he caught his breath, he said, "Sarcasm, nil, cuteness, one. What have you been reading?"  
"Much ado about nothing. You know, you could pretend not to be my friend, if you needed to."  
"Sorry?"  
"So you can get Dudley to like you. Besides, I like fighting with you. At least like this."  
Draco sat back up, a calculating look on his face. "It won't be easy."  
"I know." Harry scrambled off the trunk and stuck out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, enormously tall person."  
"You too, nine year old."  
  
"You know," said Harry, huffing and puffing as he helped move Draco's trunk into the nearest compartment, "you could tell me about my family."  
Draco yanked the end of the trunk over the door tracks. "Why do you think I know?"  
Harry snorted in exasperation. "Because everyone does! I met this boy on Diagon Alley yesterday, and he was really nice and all, and then he asked what my surname was, 'cos I hadn't said, and he ran away shouting 'Mum! It's Harry Potter!' I mean, am I evil or something? What?"  
Draco was rolling around on the floor, holding his sides and laughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.   
Harry looked down at his new friend. He really didn't understand what was so funny.  
A few minutes later, when Draco had composed himself enough to get back on the seat and dust off his clothes, there was a loud thump from the corridor.  
A dark head appeared around the edge of the door. "Why have you left your trunk half in the corridor?" it said sharply. "Oh, hello Malfoy. What's wrong with you?"  
Draco wiped another crop of tears from his eyes and said, "Blaise. He, oh, hell," and dissolved into sniggers again.  
Blaise looked at the other occupant of the compartment. The small, dark haired boy looked rather familiar.  
"B-blaise?" said Harry.  
"Yes?"  
Harry launched himself at the larger boy, babbling, "You're OK! I thought something bad must have happened! What about Auntie Rosie and Uncle Blaine? Are they OK? What about Minx and Manx? Have you brought Batbrain?"  
"Harry?" said Blaise. "You shrank."  
Harry let go of Blaise and glared at him. "I shrank?"  
"Uh-huh. Why didn't you come back?"  
"Because nobody ever came to pick me up," muttered Harry, eyes old and tired.  
Blaise frowned, chewing on a fingernail. "I think I'd better owl Mum. She said you didn't want to come back."  
Harry sighed. "Probably Aunt Petunia. Though why she'd want to keep me if she didn't have to, I don't know."  
"Hmm. What did you do to Draco, by the way?"  
Harry huffed. "I didn't do anything. I just asked a question and he won't even answer it, let alone tell me why it's funny."  
Blaise looked at Draco. "What was the question?"  
Draco said, struggling manfully not to giggle, "Some kid asked him his name and then ran away screaming, 'Mum! It's Harry Potter!' And he wants to know if he's evil!"  
Blaise cracked up.  
"What is wrong with you guys?"  
  
Blaise and Draco managed to wrestle their trunks into the compartment between them. Harry, barred from helping on grounds of being 9 (Blaise had raised both eyebrows at this), sat in the corner seat hugging Manx, one of the Zabini family's pet kneazles.  
Manx was a mackerel striped female who'd lost her tail in an accident as a kitten and who was entirely too big to fit in Harry's lap. Harry, involved in the accident that had deprived Manx of her tail, felt that at least until he'd had a chance to apologise properly Manx had better be in charge of their relationship and sacrificed blood circulation to his legs happily.  
"Harry?"  
Harry looked up from his inspection of Manx's ears. "Yeah?"  
"Where's your trunk?"  
Harry said, "I don't have a trunk, but my stuff's there," pointing his chin at his bag.  
Blaise opened his mouth, caught Draco shaking his head out of the corner of his eye, and shut up.  
"Hey, Blaise," said Harry a minute later. "Can you help me introduce Ethan to Manx?"  
"Ethan?" asked Blaise, lifting Manx off Harry's lap, and wrapping both arms around the kneazle.  
Harry grinned. "He wanted to visit Hogwarts, so I said I'd give him a lift." Harry reached in to the back of his shirt and lifted out Ethan. Ethan, awakened from a nice nap to find a hissing and spitting kneazle in his face, did what any self respecting snake would do, bite and run.  
Fortunately for Manx, Blaise had been distracted by the sight of his cousin handling an adder so casually and let go of him. Harry found himself pressed back into the corner by Manx's weight, Ethan curled up behind him swearing viciously, and Manx trying to squirm a paw under him enough to get at the tasty looking snake.  
"Oh dear," said Draco, thinking that at this rate Harry would need his old clothes. The grey trousers were already suffering.  
"Help, would you?" muttered Blaise, irritated.  
With Draco scruffing the kneazle while Blaise put her in a choke hold, it didn't take long to prize Manx off Harry. Introducing Ethan and Manx so they wouldn't attack each other again proved a little more time consuming.  
  
Harry was seriously considering pouting. Only the feeling that he should keep his serious weapons in reserve was stopping him. Blaise and Draco had refused to explain about his family, only saying "You're not evil, Harry," and starting to laugh again whenever he asked.  
It was almost a quarter past ten now, and the train was beginning to get a bit busier. Harry picked up his bag and tucked Ethan round his neck.  
"Where are you going, Harry?" asked Blaise.  
Harry shrugged. "Next door. Draco needs to be friends with Dudley, so I figured I'd better not be here."  
Draco's calculating air returned. "It better had be next door, 9. I'm sure he'll at least stop off to yell at you, and I need a way to break the ice."  
"I'll let you know if it's not. Blaise, you want to play intermediary?"  
Blaise grimaced. "I met our impressive cousin in Ollivanders. I suspect that I shall move to your compartment shortly."  
Harry grinned.  
  
Settling in to the next compartment, Harry looked out of the corridor side window, waiting for the inevitable.  
He could almost hear Aunt Petunia's shrill voice.  
"Oh, Hello," said a voice. Harry started from his thoughts and looked back at the door. Three grinning red heads were trying to fit through it all at once.  
"Hello," said Harry.  
"Is this compartment taken? I mean, I thought you must be one of the teacher's kids, but Ronniekins here says you're a first year too," said one of the larger, more identical redheads.   
Harry said, "I'm a first year. Um, come in, if you want."  
The other older boy grinned. "Nah, we've got somewhere. Just little old Ron needing a seat."  
Two minutes later the bigger boys had Ron's trunk put away. They shut the door behind them.  
Ron said, after a few moments, "I'm sorry about yesterday, really. I was just so surprised, you know?"  
Harry winced. "It's OK, I guess. Would you mind telling me why, though?"  
"You mean, you don't know?" said Ron, in tones of total disbelief.  
  
Blaise stepped back into his compartment and muttered to Draco, "One of the Weasleys is telling him about it."  
Draco laughed.  
  
Dudley Dursley had had to be helped on to Platform 9 and 3/4 by a family of red headed lunatics. The mother had been scatty and disapproving of something. The youngest, a girl, had been duly impressed by Dudley's manly stature and his heroic deeds (Dudley could see it now, Dudley and the Snakes of Doom, starring Harrison Ford in the title role). The four boys, however, had been trouble.  
The eldest reeked of Prefect. Dudley was quite good at avoiding Prefects, even though he hadn't had to fear them in several years. The youngest seemed to be afraid of him. The middle two, well they had that same glint in their eyes that the brat had when he was planning mischief.  
Trouble. The lot of them.  
Dudley had mentioned this to Vernon Dursley, and he had concurred. Vernon, as not even a squib, couldn't get on to Platform 9 and 3/4 without special dispensation. He hadn't realised this or he'd have organised something; with Petunia still unwilling to be reminded of the brat poor Dudley would have to get on the train on his own.  
Vernon, as a man with an eye for the main chance, had decided that, dubious or not, any family with four strapping (though not as healthily built as Dudley) boys was to be appreciated when it came to getting Dudley's two large and heavy trunks onto a train.  
Mrs Weasley, making some comment about how awful the muggles were at dealing with glandular problems that Vernon didn't pick up on until later, roped her sons into getting Dudley's trunks onto the train.  
Unfortunately, she wasn't very specific, and Dudley's trunks ended up upside down in a section of the train where there were no free compartments.  
  
Dudley glared at his trunks and yanked open the nearest compartment door. There were four boys inside, two almost as thin as the freak and two more muscular types. Dudley barrelled his way in to the compartment and sat down, almost knocking one of the thin boys off the seat.  
"Well," he said, "Don't just sit there. Fetch my trunks."  
The arctic silence was broken by one of the larger boys. "You're Dursley, right?"  
Dudley sniffed. "Yes."  
"Draco, I think we should get rid of him. He's already pissed off all the Weasleys and Flint."  
Draco waved Gregory to silence and glared harder at Dursley. He was supposed to be friends with this monstrosity?  
"Draco, is it?" said Dudley. This was just like him and Piers at the beginning. And this time, he was going to end up in charge of the gang. "Fetch my trunks. Now."  
"You will call me Malfoy, Dursley."  
Dudley grinned. "Just as you like, Malky. Now fetch. My. Trunks."  
"Crabbe, Goyle, if you would?" said Draco, languidly.   
Vincent and Gregory were not small boys. Unlike Dudley, most of their weight was muscle and they had been taught how to use it. Between them hustling Dudley out of the compartment was not difficult.  
Dudley, not to be defeated, took a step back in the door.  
"Dursley," drawled Draco. "A word of advice. You may have been in charge in your previous environment, but you are not in charge here. You do not even know who is in charge. Perhaps you should find out."  
Dudley took another step forward.   
The other thin boy spoke up. "It's quite amazing, really. I can't think of one single thing that would anger all the Weasleys and Flint. What did you do?"  
"Who are the Weasleys and Flint?" asked Dudley.  
Everyone ignored him. Dudley sat back down. Gregory said, disgustedly, "He hit on Virginia Weasley and Clarice Flint. At the same time."  
"Ew!" said Blaise.  
"Are you suicidal?" asked Vincent, interested.  
Dudley asked again, "Who are the Weasleys and Flint?"  
Draco said, "Perhaps we will write that on your tombstone."  
Dudley fumed as the others laughed. "I'm Harry Potter's cousin, you know!"  
"You are the half blood son of a squib. Every single person here is better bred than you!"  
"So what," yelled Dudley. "If I can beat your precious saviour up, I can beat you, right?"  
Draco smirked. "I do not think you are correct. You are welcome to try, however."  
Dudley looked at the smirk and reconsidered. "Not here."  
"Where and when you will, mudblood."  
Dudley had made something of a study of wizarding insults. He spluttered, enraged. "I'm not a mudblood!"  
Technically," said Blaise, "you aren't. But only because you have Potter blood in you."  
Dudley screeched, "I'm not a Potter!"  
Blaise snapped, "Shut up! Obviously, I know more about the family than you, so keep quiet and stop making a fool of yourself! James Potter was a member of a very junior cadet branch of the Potter family. Two generations ago, the main family had only daughters and lost the name. With James Potter and Lily Evans, they saw the opportunity to get the name back into the main line. You are a member of the Potter family through your mother, third daughter and squib. As son of a muggle and muggle raised, you would count entirely as a mudblood if it were not for the fact that the Potter's gifts are inclined to skip generations. The Potter family are therefore the only pureblood family to keep in touch with their squibs, let alone support them. Clear?"  
"Yes," said Dudley. "How'd you know?"  
"If you were properly raised, you'd know," Draco drawled. "Blaise also has the ah, advantage of being your cousin."  
Dudley fumed. He'd lost the leadership battle again, and worse, he wasn't even second. He turned his attention to Crabbe and Goyle, determined not to be last, and completely forgot everything Blaise had told him.  
  
Watching Dudley eat his way through the enormous pile of snacks he'd bought, Draco murmured to Blaise, "You'd better make sure 9 knows all that too."  
Blaise nodded and left, determined to find out why Draco called Harry 9.  
  
  
  
  
  
**A/N:** What do you think? Is this a Slytherin Harry or a Gryffindor Harry? He seems more Slytherin to me, but I don't know if I can bear to make him share a dorm with Dudley.  
I don't think I'm going to be able to update tomorrow - sorry, but I have to study too....  
  
Is there anyone reading this who can draw? Could I have a pic of Harry in his white jeans and red hong-kong-phooey t-shirt? Pretty please.....I'll write you a ficlet.....  



	5. Enter Trevor, Pursued

**Warning:** First Fic! AU, small amounts of non-explicit HarryTorture, de-sanctification of several adult characters.  
**Disclaimer: **The usual. I do a nice line in white coats for any one who thinks I own these people.  
**A/N: **A few later aspects of this fic were inspired by March Madness's Fugitive Prince, which is a fantastic creation well worth reading.   
Urk. Came back from making myself a cup of tea and found my **** cat playing at typing. Think I've mended everything, but if I haven't, sorry.  
Thanks to everyone who helped out on what to do with the dorm issue -Lita of Jupiter, Otaku freak and MP(), and to all the lovely people who've reviewed.  
  
  
**5. Enter Trevor, Pursued.  
**   
"You want to be careful with that, mate," said Ron Weasley.  
Harry paused, chocolate frog half unwrapped. "Sorry?" he said, confused.  
"Haven't you ever eaten one before?"  
Harry looked down at the chocolate frog. "No, I don't think so. Auntie Rosie wasn't much for letting us eat sweets, and we never really went anywhere." Harry shrugged, tossing the frog from hand to hand. "What does it do?"  
Ron grinned. "Let me shut the window, and then open it. You'll see."  
Harry pulled the foil from the frog and smiled as the charm kicked in. "I remember these now! I got some for Christmas one year and Auntie Rosie said I was too young for them and ate them all herself."  
Ron winced. "That's just evil. Not even my mum would do that."  
Harry shrugged. "Well, I did sneak one. It escaped and Tiddy couldn't catch it until the charm wore off."  
"Didn't your Aunt just summon it?"  
Harry shook his head. "I didn't actually tell her about it."  
"Oh," said Ron. "Hey, why weren't you living with that Aunt instead of the squib one?"  
Harry frowned, absently biting the head off the chocolate frog. "Have another frog, Ron."  
"Don't mind if I do. Cheers, mate." Ron fumbled the catch and the frog escaped into the corridor. "Drat. So what about your family?"  
"You aren't going to give up, are you?"  
"Nope," said Ron, grinning.  
"All right!" muttered Harry. "Well, it was my fault really. My parent's friends were always coming by to check up on me and one of them caught me looking at a dark arts book. Next thing, there's Aurors all over the house and Auntie Rosie's giving me a portkey and telling me to pack and run. Never got asked to come back."  
"Wow," said Ron. "You're on the run from Aurors?"  
Harry scrunched up his nose in thought. "Not really. I mean, it was pretty obvious where I was, right."  
Ron considered this for a moment before nodding. "So, what was the book? Was it good?"  
Blaise said, from the doorway, "He was looking at the pictures in 'Taming and Use of Dark Creatures'. Have you lost a chocolate frog?"  
"Ron did. Do you want one, Blaise?"  
Blaise passed the squirming chocolate back to Ron and sat down next to Harry. "Did you buy everything, Harry?"  
Harry blushed. "No, not really. I was pretty hungry, and I couldn't remember what half this stuff tasted like."  
Blaise helped himself to a packet of Every Flavour Beans. "Wasn't your fault, you know."  
"What wasn't?"  
"The Aurors. Given who was visiting, it was inevitable that any dubious behaviour on our part would come to the surface eventually. Mum and Dad should have got rid of the Dark Arts library when you first came to live with us."  
Harry said wanly, "I thought you'd hate me."  
"I did, for a while. Then Mum and Dad got let back out, and they got better, and I got over it."  
"They're OK now, though?" asked Harry, chewing his lip.  
"Yes Harry. Have a bean."  
"Ick."  
  
"I can't believe," Ron said later, "that they arrested your parents just over 'Taming and Use of Dark Creatures'. I mean, we've all read it like, dozens of times. It's great."  
Blaise and Harry smiled thinly.   
"Aurors aren't perfect, you know," said Blaise quietly.  
Ron sighed. "Nearly arrested my brother Charlie once."  
Harry perked up. "What for?" he asked.  
"Oh, Charlie's mad for dragons and some of the research he was doing, well, they wanted to know why he needed to know. I mean, they weren't violent or anything, they just wanted to know. Right?"  
Harry and Blaise sat, stone faced.   
"Oh," said Ron. "I'm sorry."  
Harry said, quietly, "My Dad was an Unspeakable and my Mum was an Auror. Quite a few people in their old departments took it personally that I was being taught Dark Arts."  
Ron winced and passed the chocolate.  
  
"Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all? I've lost mine," said Neville Longbottom for the eighteenth time. Mostly, he'd got kindly, if negative, responses.   
Neville looked around this compartment. No sign of Trevor. 1 kneazle, 1 boy who looked like a Malfoy, 2 large and muscular boys and one boy who made Neville feel like dieting, just to be on the safe side.  
The enormous boy was just opening his mouth to speak. He hadn't quite finished chewing.  
"Right," said Neville, showing an unusual degree of sense. "I'll just look somewhere else, will I?"  
Neville shut the door rather firmly as he left.  
  
The next compartment had three boys in it. Neville rapped on the open door frame and repeated his speech about Trevor.   
The red head and the larger of the dark boys shook their heads. The third boy looked frantically around him and reached into his shirt.  
"Uh, could you shut the door a minute?"  
Neville stepped inside and did as asked.  
The small boy tugged a sleeping snake gently out of his shirt and ran careful hands down the length of it's body.  
"Phew," he said. "I don't think Ethan's eaten anything bigger than a mouse lately. I was worried for a minute there."  
"Harry," said the redhead, "you aren't allowed snakes at Hogwarts."  
"I know," Harry muttered. "But he's not a pet, you see. He just wanted a lift to Scotland."  
Neville blinked. "Um, Harry? How do you know?"  
Harry stared at Neville in confusion. "He said so."  
"Oh."  
"You can talk to snakes?"  
"Cousin mine, it might be wise not to tell anyone else that little fact."  
"Oh," said Harry. "Why?"  
  
Neville felt much better when he headed off on his quest again. He had three friends. Nice friends who not even Uncle Aberville could complain about.  
  
Harry looked at the row of boats and the crowd of children, did some quick calculations in his head and said, "If the fifteen smallest kids get in three boats, it oughtn't be a problem."  
Hagrid ruffled his hair and said "Thanks, Harry," before wandering off to make sure nobody tried to get in the same boat as Dudley.  
Harry ended up sharing a boat with Draco, Blaise, Neville and Hermione Granger, a friend of Neville's he'd met on the train. Ron had wanted to share with them instead of Draco, but Hagrid had deemed him 'big', and told him to get a different boat.  
The atmosphere in the boat was rather strained. Neville came from a family of Aurors, and the politest thing he could think of to say about the Malfoys was that they weren't really Ministry types. As Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, was currently extremely senior in the Ministry, that hadn't gone down too well.  
Draco and Hermione were getting on like a gunpowder factory on fire. Hermione's 'I read it in a book, it must be right,' attitude and her extreme willingness to share information set off Draco's natural competitiveness. Unfortunately this conflicted with his preference for leaving his opposition in the dark regarding his knowledge and ability. Already in a bad mood from enduring 5 hours in the company of Dudley Dursley, the discovery that Hermione was muggleborn was enough to send him into a rage.  
Blaise and Harry, sitting in the middle of the boat between the two parties barely had time to appreciate the sight of Hogwarts rising up over the dark water. They were too busy trying to work out which set of friends was going to hex them first.  
  
Both Blaise and Harry breathed silent sighs of relief as the boats docked. Harry climbed out immediately and towed Draco into the milling mass of children. Blaise stalled for a few moments and that was all it took to separate the combatants.  
"Hey, tall," hissed Harry.  
Draco said, "hmm?" quietly, looking at someone else and pretending not to know Harry was there.  
"How's the trollspawn taming going?"  
Draco winced. "If I lived with him, I'd have poisoned him, and to hell with going to gaol."  
"I did think about it, once or twice," muttered Harry. "I thought Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon might've been even worse to live with if I did."  
They followed Hagrid out onto the lawn by the front doors and split up in the crowd, Harry ending up with Ron and two boys he didn't know.  
"All right, Harry?" asked Ron, and Harry nodded, looking up at the school. This was even more intimidating than his move to secondary school had been.  
The tall doors swung open to reveal a stern looking witch in bright green robes. Harry thought she looked a bit like his old art teacher, only crosser, and decided not to mess with her.  
"The first years, Professor McGonagall," rumbled Hagrid.   
Professor McGonagall nodded. "Thank you, Hagrid." She glared impartially at the first years and said, "Follow me. Keep up!"   
They trailed across the entrance hall, whispering quietly. Harry, between Ron's new friends heard, "materials value alone, my parents would kill just to look..." from the boy on his right, and "So are you sure he's Harry Potter? I mean, have you seen the scar?" from his left. Harry walked faster, wishing people would just get over it. It wasn't like he even remembered doing it, after all.  
Harry listened patiently to Professor McGonagall's speech about the houses and the sorting and smiled. The part about having a whole quarter of the school as family sounded good.   
As Professor McGonagall left the room, Harry turned and poked Ron in the side. "How do they sort people?"  
"Dunno," said Ron. "My brothers said that it's some kind of test, and that it hurts a lot."  
"Oh," said Harry , in a small voice. He had read all his books, but he hadn't really been able to practise any magic. He hoped it was something easy.  
Ron gnawed on his knuckle. "I've just got to be in Gryffindor, I have to be." Seeing Harry's blank look, he said, "There hasn't been a Weasley that wasn't in Gryffindor for like 800 years. Mum'd kill me! I mean, Ravenclaw wouldn't be so bad, but imagine if I got Hufflepuff or Slytherin. I'd just die!"  
Harry nodded sympathetically, wondering if he shouldn't have found out something about the houses before now. Still, they were moving in to the Great Hall and it was too late.  
  
There was a hat. It sang. There was a singing hat. A hat, that sang.   
Harry re-examined this thought from several angles. Yes, he was still seeing and hearing a singing hat.  
Harry tried his best to put the issue of a singing hat aside and listen to the song. He gathered that each of the houses were different, and that none of the descriptions had really sounded much like him, but which description belonged to which house was beyond him.  
  
Dudley Dursley sat down on the stool, oversized hat falling partway down his face. The stool creaked dangerously. The hat said, "Well, what have we here? Hmm. No, not Ravenclaw and not Hufflepuff. Dear me. I don't really think Gryffindor would do you either, though it's in your blood. And you are ambitious, I suppose. It had better be SLYTHERIN."  
Dudley Dursley stood up, put the stupid hat down and went to sit with his new house.  
  
"Oh," said the Sorting Hat, sliding down over Draco Malfoy's ears. "I don't see that very often."  
"What?" muttered Draco.  
"A Malfoy who could do well in Gryffindor," said the hat.  
Draco ground his teeth. "If you are talking about my intentions regarding my father, you had better look again. I don't want to anger him, I want to destroy him. And now is most definitely NOT the time for attack."  
The Sorting Hat sniggered. "Very clinical, my dear, almost Ravenclaw. Let's see..."  
"Just shut up and put me in Slytherin."  
"Well, now," said the hat, teasing, before yelling, "SLYTHERIN."  
  
Harry Potter perched on the stool, legs swinging. It was very dark inside the hat, he thought. Comforting. He could pretend he couldn't hear the people whispering, "Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? Really?"  
"Let's see," said the hat, startling Harry so much he almost fell off the stool, "what have we here. Hmm. You know how to work, that's for sure. And you're quite bright. Hmm. Plenty of courage, but you still know when to run. Difficult, very difficult."  
Harry held his breath. He wanted to be with Draco and Blaise and Ron, but only one of them had been sorted, and into the same house as Dudley.   
"Hmm. Not Ravenclaw, you don't study for the love of it, and not Hufflepuff, you'd eat them alive, poor things.  
"Gryffindor or Slytherin, hmm. Any preferences?"  
Harry gulped. "Well, I really don't know much about either."  
The hat explained again, and Harry said, "So if I was in Gryffindor, between that and the fame thing, everyone would like me, even if they didn't know me?"  
"Probably," said the hat, sounding sad.   
"Then I think I'd rather be in Slytherin, if it's all the same to you."  
The sorting hat sighed and shouted "SLYTHERIN!"  
  
Harry put the hat carefully down on the stool and turned to face the hall. Three quarters of it was in dead silence, and the last quarter was jumping up and down and screaming things like, "We got Potter!"  
Harry grit his teeth and headed towards his new house, determined to be polite to Dudley for at least ten minutes.  
  
Dudley frowned. He almost wished he hadn't eaten so much on the train. The feast was marvellous, all his favourite kinds of food and as much as he could eat.  
In fact, there was only one thing wrong with the whole set up, and that was the freak.  
The freak was sitting between Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini, the senior members of his, Dudley's, gang. Dudley was sitting beside Vincent Crabbe, who was ignoring him to talk to Gregory Goyle.  
The freak was sitting opposite Parkinson, Perks and Trewisick, who while not as stunning as the redhead he'd met on Platform 9 and 3/4, were still rather more attractive than Millicent Bulstrode, whom he was sitting opposite.  
The freak had received cheers and catcalls in welcome, and a number of older Slytherins had gotten up and walked down table to introduce themselves. Dudley had received a comparatively muted welcome and some polite introductions from the nearest few people.  
Worst yet, the freak seemed to be happy.  
  
Harry picked at the splendid dinner. Much as he liked all of it, there was no way he could eat much. He settled on roast beef and yorkshires and peas, all washed down with a helping of gravy. It was all very good, thought Harry, moping up the gravy with one single roast potato, but he hoped they got something plain for breakfast or he'd be ill.  
"Aren't you going to eat more than that?" asked Draco.  
Harry shook his head. "Can't. I'd be sick."  
"Do you need to go to the hospital wing?" asked Blaise, confused.  
"Oh, no," said Harry. "This always happens at the beginning of term. I think my stomach shrinks or something during the holidays. It takes me a week or so to get used to school lunches again."  
Draco frowned. "Have some carrots. They're good for you."  
Harry watched an enormous spoonful of carrots land on his plate, followed by a slab of chicken breast.  
"You always liked chicken," muttered Blaise encouragingly.  
Harry picked up his knife and fork again, took a deep breath and started eating very slowly.  
  
Pudding was a disaster. It all looked lovely, Harry was sure, but he knew eating any of it would just be asking for trouble. Harry took the opportunity to talk to the Bloody Baron, who was quite willing to explain all sorts of things about how the school worked, and pretend he hadn't noticed there was more food available.   
Unfortunately, this just let Draco and Blaise choose his pudding for him. He turned back around after saying a polite goodbye to the ghost to find his plate covered in apple pie ("It's healthy," said Blaise,) ice cream ("Fits in all the gaps. Won't fill you up at all," said Draco,) and chocolate eclairs.  
"Don't worry about eating those," said the girl opposite, "we just wanted to save some from the Omnivorous Grole down there." She pointed with her chin towards Dudley, who seemed to be making a concerted effort to eat everything in sight.  
"What's an omnivorous grole?" asked Harry.  
The girl grinned. "Groles are little more than a mouth and a stomach with the minimum necessary to connect them. Usually they eat very specific things, like particular kinds of trees or rocks. Some idiot in the 14th Century bred one that would eat anything, and that's exactly what it did. It didn't move, it didn't sleep, it just ate whatever was in front of its mouth. Eventually the breeder killed it, he didn't fancy having a volcanic vent in his front garden."  
"Oh," said Harry, grinning widely. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name."  
"Sally-Anne Perks. And you are Harry Potter."  
  
There were a great many stairs in this place, thought Dudley. They had already descended 4 flights from the Great Hall, following Adrian Pucey, one of the Slytherin Prefects. Finally drawing to a halt beside a blank section of damp stone wall, Adrian said, "The password this week is 'Serpentine.' Do not forget it."  
As Adrian spoke, a section of wall slid away revealing a long, low ceilinged room, lit by a few greenish lamps strung from the ceiling and a huge ornate fireplace. The room was cool and dim and the green light reminded Harry of the sunlight filtering through the shrub outside his window. Harry felt very comfortable.  
  
Adrian Pucey settled in to one of the carved wooden chairs and said. "Take a seat. Our head of house, Professor Snape, will be here in a few minutes. Once he's spoken to you, we'll get you settled in your dorms. Meantime, introduce yourselves if you haven't already."  
The first years mostly had introduced themselves, so they spent the time looking curiously around the common room.  
There were bookshelves, and a couple of tables with chess sets, and one enormous, squishy sofa in a particularly dark corner. On the whole, Harry approved.  
  
Professor Snape was a tall, slim man with a hooked nose, sallow skin and glittering eyes. His hair was limp and Harry thought it was probably quite greasy. He was really very intimidating looking, and his dramatic entrance through a piece of wall that definitely wasn't the door the first years had used was very impressive.  
His speech was pretty good too, Harry thought.  
"Some of you," he said, eyeing Draco coldly, "have family ties to this House; for you Slytherin will be home already, you will understand what is expected of you and the perceptions others will have of you. For others, who have third hand knowledge of this house, Slytherin may be strange or intimidating.   
"Slytherin is the closest of the four houses, the tightest family. It is also the furthest from any of the other houses. We see things differently to others. Where we see common sense, Ravenclaws see strategic retreat, Hufflepuffs, disloyalty and Gryffindors, cowardice. We see cunning, they see sneakiness. We see carefulness, they see distrust.  
"Do not expect to be liked by members of the other houses. Do not expect to be treated fairly. Do not expect fame," here Professor Snape threw a quick glare at Harry, "or popularity. Expect infamy. Expect prejudice. Expect hatred. Expect to be treated as dark wizard, no matter what you are."  
Professor Snape paused, striding to the front of the room. "You are not your parents. You are not Salazaar Slytherin. You are not Lord Voldemort. You are yourselves, cunning, careful, ambitious. Learn to use those traits here along with your intelligence, your will, and your strength.  
"There is one more thing I would say to you before you go to bed. I do not take well to being embarrassed by my students. Anyone receiving detention will receive another from me, and believe me when I say you do not want that to happen."  
  
Harry followed Adrian Pucey through yet another apparently solid wall into a broad torchlit corridor. On one side were a row of doors that Adrian said led to the teachers and prefects rooms. On the other, with windows that Harry guessed must look out of the cliff above the lake, were a series of small study rooms. At the end a flight of stairs led up and another down.  
The girls said goodnight and trotted off up the stairs while Adrian pointed the boys at the stairs down.  
"Just keep going. The first years dorms are at the very end."  
Harry trotted down the stairs, eager to stay as far from Dudley as he could. The stairs were pretty narrow and very steep, spiralling irregularly. They came out on a narrow corridor. There was a door marked '7th years' and a bathroom. Beyond that the corridor twisted through the rock, passing the 6th years dorm and another bathroom before ending at a landing.   
This staircase was even narrower. Harry skidded down them, fascinated. At the bottom was a wide room with doors to the 4th and 5th years dorms and a trapdoor leading further downwards.  
"Cool," said Harry to himself, since he'd rather gotten ahead of everyone else.  
Under the trapdoor was a rickety ladder.  
Beyond the ladder was the 3rd year dorm and another corridor. This one was damp and twisty.  
The staircase at the end of this corridor went up. Harry shook his head in amusement and started climbing. It was rather difficult as each tread was rather higher than it was wide. Harry ended up using both hands to help him climb. The staircase came out on a landing. Up a short flight of wide wooden steps Harry found a broad, wood floored area which reminded him of the loft at Auntie Rosie's house. On one side of the loft was the 2nd years dorm, on the other the 1st years.  
Harry shook his head. He guessed it would take at least fifteen minutes to get to breakfast in the morning.  
Harry dumped his robe on the bed with his satchel on, not really looking round, then ran back towards the stairs. He couldn't hear the others.  
Harry shrugged and ran back down the stairs.  
  
He found the other 1st years at the top of the second set of stairs. They were looking dubiously at the small spiral staircase and at Dudley's bulk. Harry said helpfully. "There's a trapdoor and a ladder after this, and then a really twisty narrow corridor, and then a really steep staircase up."  
Draco looked at the puffing boy. "Did you run all the way?"  
Harry nodded. "It's fifteen minutes to breakfast, easily."  
Dudley fumed. Fifteen minutes to breakfast for the freak would translate as half an hour for him, and that was no good at all. Dudley stomped back up the first flight and started pulling on the door to the teachers and prefects rooms until he found one that opened.  
"This'll do," he said, looking at the four poster bed and the private bathroom. "Oy! Freak! Bring my stuff up here now!"  
Harry, who had followed Dudley along with the rest of his year mates, jumped. He was so used to obeying that kind of order that it was hard not to.  
"No," he said firmly.  
Dudley turned around, face crimson. "No?"  
"No," drawled Draco. "If you are permitted to change rooms, which I doubt, either the house elves will move your things, you will move your things, or you will ask nicely and all of us will help you move your things. Clear?"  
Dudley scowled and plopped down on the bed, putting his feet up on the coverlet.  
"Dursley! Get out of there now!" hissed Draco.  
Dudley screwed up his face in the way Harry recognised as meaning 'tantrum imminent,' and rolled off the bed.  
"Now, you will go and ask Professor Snape if you are determined not to stay in the dorm," said Draco, relieved.  
Dudley grinned unpleasantly and slammed the door in their faces. At least, he tried to. One long arm reaching over the other 1st years, Professor Snape was leaning against the door.  
"May I ask, Draco, Harry, what exactly this is about?" sneered the Professor, emphasising Harry's name in a way that made the boy very worried.  
Harry flushed scarlet and went white. Any minute now he'd be blamed for this, he knew it.  
Draco, more used to justifying himself, said, "Dudley was having some difficulty with the stairs, sir, and we wondered if there was somewhere else he could stay."  
Professor Snape looked coldly at Draco. "Detention for lying to me, Malfoy, and five points to Slytherin for trying to keep your year mates out of trouble."  
Professor Snape turned his glare on Harry. "Your explanation, Potter?"  
Harry stuttered, "I don't really have one, sir, we were just trying to work out what to do, we didn't really want to disturb anyone."  
"I see. Harry, Draco, Dursley, your detentions will be served with me, immediately. Harry, go and get a jumper or something. The rest of you, bed, now."  
  
Harry shivered. It was very cold out tonight, the sky clear and the stars bright. They were in some fenced off grassy rectangle that at least was a little less windy than the rest of the grounds.  
"Well," snapped Snape. "What are you waiting for? 5 laps of the Quidditch pitch, as fast as you can go. Get moving!"  
Harry shrugged and started running.  
Draco suppressed the mad urge to laugh as he lapped Dudley for the second time. The bigger boy was heavy on his feet, sweating like a pig and puffing harder than the Hogwarts express. He was also moving slightly slower than Draco's normal walking speed, having tried to keep up with Harry for the first lap.  
Draco had considered trying it, but hadn't wanted to be anywhere near Dudley. Then he'd realised that Harry was a very good sprinter and an OK runner, and had settled in to his own pace. Draco was pretty good at long distance, and he reckoned he'd have caught back the lap Harry had on him before the end.  
He was right.  
"Have a seat," said Professor Snape, pulling two blankets from nowhere. Harry and Draco slumped next to each other, puffing and wishing they hadn't eaten quite so much at dinner.  
"Why is your cousin so bloated, Harry?" asked Snape.  
Harry shrugged, tugging the blanket further over his head. "Aunt Petunia never says no to him, sir. He always gets to eat whatever he likes and gets notes for PE and stuff."  
Dudley trailed to a halt wheezing, at the end of his third lap.  
Snape called him over. "Mr Dursley. You may have the room. However, it has a price. You will come with me to see the school nurse tomorrow. She will assign you a diet and an exercise schedule. You will stick to it for as long as you want the room."  
Dudley groaned, horrified, and Draco and Harry started thinking of ways to make sure that Dudley thought the room was worth it.  
  
  
  
**A/N:** Groles are the intellectual property of Sheri S Tepper. See 'The True Game,' and 'Jinian Footseer,' if you want to meet the originals.  
I can't believe I'm writing Draco and Blaise as maternal. Argh. They're just going to have to be extra nasty in Potions tomorrow. And I suppose that means I have to decide whether Harry has Moral Fibre TM or will stick up for his friends come hell and high water. (Bangs head against wall, thinking of all the revision she hasn't done).  
  



	6. Exit Peace and Quiet, Carefully

**Warning: **First Fic! AU, small amounts of non-explicit HarryTorture, de-sanctification of several adult characters.  
**Disclaimer:** The usual. I do a nice line in white coats for any one who thinks I own these people.  
**A/N: **A few later aspects of this fic were inspired by March Madness's Fugitive Prince, which is a fantastic creation well worth reading.   
Thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially Fyre, whom I'm blaming entirely for the slipshod quality of essay I have to hand in tomorrow ;-). Seriously though, if anyone can be bothered to disect this, please do! Feedback is the only way I'm going to learn, unless my secondary school English teacher suddenly reappears (scary thought).  
  
  
**6. Exit Peace and Quiet, Carefully  
**   
Harry woke up a little before his usual time of 6 am the next morning. He was lying on something strangely soft, and he had a pillow. Odd. Harry put out his hand, groping for the end of the bedding and his glasses. The edge was much further away than it should have been.  
Glasses on, Harry sat up and looked around him at the green of the Slytherin dorms. Harry chewed on his lip. He was a little worried about this place. He had Draco and Blaise, yes, but he also had the ever present threat of Dudley and he had no idea what the other two boys were like. He knew they were Draco's friends, but he didn't think the cute little me act that so entertained Draco would work on them. He'd have to investigate.  
Harry hadn't really inspected the dorm last night; he'd just been too tired after detention. The room was a long, slightly uneven rectangle. The short walls contained the door and the window, and the long walls had three tall four poster beds evenly spaced along them. There was a chest of drawers on each side of each bed, one with a bookshelf over it and one with pigeon holes, and a wardrobe separating each persons space. At the foot of each bed was a trunk.   
Draco, Harry noticed in surprise, had two.  
Harry looked at the bed to his side. Blaise was curled up on his side, facing the sunshine, with Manx draped over his hip. Harry grinned. Blaise had always slept that way. Draco, opposite Harry, was sleeping much more neatly, flat on his back with his hands on his chest, like a vampire in a muggle movie.   
Nearer the door, Vincent Crabbe sprawled inelegantly on his bed, only his feet visible through the gap in the curtains. Harry had to get out of bed to see Gregory Goyle; the absent Dudley had the corner diagonally opposite Harry.  
Harry pulled his satchel from the chest of drawers and started pulling things out of it, spreading them across his bed. He stopped as soon as he found what he was looking for, clean clothes, towel and soap, and headed off to use the showers.  
  
Draco was not a natural morning person. The unofficial motto of the Malfoy family was 'Do what thou wilt,' and for most Malfoys this meant staying in bed until at least 10 o'clock. Over the years, this had led to the unofficial motto of under age Malfoys being 'If you want any time to yourself, get up bloody early.' Draco liked time to himself.  
Draco had thought that waking up at 6 would give him time to study his dorm mates and still have his public face on when they woke up. As the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Harry Potter, roughly towelling his ridiculous hair with a washed out, half unravelled towel that Draco wouldn't have used on a dog, Draco had to settle for suppressing his usual morning grumbling and heading for the showers in a dignified manner.  
  
Harry continued pulling things quietly out of his satchel while Draco was in the shower. He put his books away and his parchment and quills and ink; he didn't need to open any cupboards or drawers for that, and sorted through the rest of his things. He was sadly inspecting the trousers Manx had gotten to yesterday when Draco came back into the room.  
"They're dead, 9. Mourn them and let them go."  
"I liked them."  
Draco sniffed disparagingly. "They were better than those shorts, I suppose."  
"What shorts?" asked Blaise, sleepily.  
"He was wearing them the first time I met him. You don't want to know." Draco glanced at the time and threw a sock at Vincent.  
Harry frowned. "What's that for?"  
"Breakfast, 7:30. Leave dorm, 7:15. Get up, 6:45. Time to start trying to wake up those two, 6:30."  
"Oh," said Harry. "Do you suppose we ought to take some of Dudley's things up to him?"  
Draco scowled. "You can, if you like. I'm certainly not waiting on that overblown twerp."  
Harry's frown progressed into a scowl. "Waiting on him would involve doing his shoe laces up for him. I'm just trying to be, well, not nasty."  
Draco ruffled Harry's hair. "A Slytherin trying to be not nasty. And lucky me, I have front row seats. Do notify me of any further performances, Potter."  
Harry's scowl turned into a snarl as he stomped over to Dudley's trunks and yanked out clean clothes and a toothbrush. He managed not to slam the door on his way out.  
Draco smirked at Blaise and said, "Sarcasm 1, Cuteness 1."  
Blaise sat up, looking worriedly at all Harry's things spread across his bed.  
"He's far too trusting."  
Draco sniffed and turned over the pile of clothing. "And seriously lacking in style."  
  
Harry was in a rather sunnier temper when he got back. The idea of waking Dudley up a whole hour before breakfast had always appealed to him, and not only had he got to do it, he'd had professorial approval. It seemed that Professor Snape didn't want Dudley to have so much as a biscuit before seeing the nurse.  
The dorm room was now in a state of chaos. With four boys trying to get dressed and unpack at the same time, every flat surface had been covered, every drawer and every door opened and practically nothing had been put away.  
Harry wove through the chaos and started shoving things in drawers and on hangers. He didn't have much besides books, so it didn't take long. Ethan decided that the dead trousers would make a good nest and had Harry put them and him on top of his wardrobe. Harry had been worried about him (how would he get down?) but Ethan had said not to worry, he'd had a nice fat rat and he'd want to sleep for a couple of weeks.  
Harry had just finished making his bed when he became aware that everyone was staring at him.  
"What?" he said, very confused.  
"Are you always this tidy?" asked Blaise, remembering the small boy who'd been completely incapable of putting his pyjamas under his pillow in the morning.  
Harry shrugged, looking around himself. He'd just put things away, like he did for the Dursleys. OK, now that he looked at it, it was a bit impersonal but he didn't have pictures of his family like Blaise and Gregory had, or a favourite Quidditch team like Vincent. He didn't even have a stack of half written letters like Draco. Of course it would look impersonal.  
  
At 7:10, Vincent pulled on his robe and raked his fingers through his hair. "Ready," he said, looking over to where Draco had found a new game.  
Draco straightened his own hair one last time and put his hairbrush on the floor while Blaise distracted Harry. The game was to see how long Harry could go without tidying it up. Not that Harry was aware he was playing. Harry was just having a conversation with his cousin, and hadn't even noticed when he'd moved over to Draco's bed and started pairing up socks.  
Vincent shook his head. He and Goyle might have been raised to know they were inferior to Malfoy, but at least they'd been trained as bodyguards. Potter was lower than a house elf, thought Vincent disgustedly; at least house elves knew what they were doing.  
Leading the way out of the dormitory, Vincent stalked down the stairs, trying hard to walk quietly enough not to wake any of the older boys. He could only hear Zabini and Goyle behind him. He'd known that Draco had always walked lightly, but Potter even moved as quietly as a house elf. Disgraceful.  
  
Passing Dudley's room, Harry spotted Dudley's old clothes scattered on the floor. Dudley himself didn't seem to be there. Harry put his head through the door and checked. He was just about to step further into the room when Draco and Blaise grabbed an arm each and hustled him away.  
"What?" said Harry, confused.  
Blaise frowned. "You are not tidying up after Dudley."  
"I'm not?" asked Harry. "I was just going to make sure he was ready, that's all."  
"Right," said Draco. "That's why my socks are all paired up."  
Harry just looked very, very confused.  
Harry's confusion only increased at breakfast. He got himself half a bowl of cornflakes and a satsuma, for a treat, and sat looking suspiciously at his bowl for a moment. These cornflakes weren't like the ones he was used to at all. They were more orange coloured and bigger and crispier. Harry thought they were odd.   
Beside him, Gregory was eating a sausage and egg sandwich of mammoth proportions. Harry shuddered, looking away. Opposite, Draco had Welsh pancakes and bacon, and on Harry's other side Blaise had porridge and sugar and cream, and was eyeing the pastries speculatively. Gritting his teeth, Harry picked at his dry cornflakes. Even like this they were quite rich.  
"Potter," said Vincent in tones of disbelief, "are you eating dry cornflakes?"  
Harry nodded, taking another mouthful. Vincent shook his head and sat down, passing out timetables and filling his own plate with eggy bread and fried tomatoes. Harry's stomach lurched. He pushed the bowl aside and picked up his timetable. He had something called Basic Learning, first, followed by Charms and lunch. This afternoon was Transfiguration and Herbology, and then he had to get up at midnight for another lesson, this time in Astronomy. This, thought Harry, looked bad.  
"Do you suppose we'll have time to get back to our dorm at lunch time?" he asked.  
Draco, looking up from his pancakes, glanced over the timetable. "Find out where they are, then we'll know."  
Harry took that as an excuse to get up, abandoning his breakfast, and go and con some of the older children into giving him directions.  
By the time Harry got back with the information that you could do it, if you knew exactly where you were going and you ran, but best not to try as Professor McGonagall was not kind to latecomers, Dudley had appeared.   
Dudley had plonked himself down in Harry's place, almost squashing Blaise, and set to eating every fried foodstuff in range.   
"Aren't you supposed to be on a diet?" asked Blaise, rather irritated.  
Dudley shrugged, gulping down another sausage. "That witch wants to watch my metabulkism for a week or so first. I just have to visit her before breakfast every day for ten minutes."  
"What about your exercise regime?"  
Dudley smirked. "I am expressly forbidden from running until she says so."  
Harry shook his head and sat down beside Draco. "Metabulkism?" he murmured.  
Draco lifted one eyebrow and finished constructing a second bacon sandwich. "Eat something," he ordered, and glared at Harry until he picked up his abandoned satsuma.  
"Oy, Freak," said Dudley loudly. "Get my books."  
Harry said, "Fetch them yourself," and turned to his food with sudden interest.  
Dudley's face grew slowly purple and he threw his spoon at Harry. Harry, used to this sort of thing, ducked reflexively and caught the handle as it sailed by. Dudley usually made sure that any projectiles that missed Harry hit something delicate.  
Harry was saved from having to decide whether to retaliate or not by the arrival of a Prefect. Saliah Rabiera was an Arabic girl whose family had preferred the segregation of British Wizarding Society and had moved in an effort to avoid the bother of the crusades. She was utterly intolerant of idiocy, weakness and useless brawling. Harry had met her on his way back from detention last night, and he rather liked her.  
"Got your timetables? Good. You need ten minutes to get to Basic Learning from here, so if you haven't got your books, you'd better get moving."  
Harry stood up, hastily stuffing the last of his satsuma into his mouth. Draco was rapidly folding a handkerchief around his bacon sandwiches and Blaise was inhaling the last crumbs of his second pastry. Gregory and Vincent kept eating as they stood up, both determined to finish as much food as they possibly could. Dudley, having been told to do something by a pretty girl, stood immediately and started trying to flirt.  
Saliah didn't even notice, she was too busy herding the girls away from the croissants.  
Back in the dormitory, Harry noticed that Dudley's trunks had been removed along with all the dirty washing. The beds had been made, the windows opened and the burnt out candles replaced. The mess had not been touched.  
  
Basic Learning proved to be a rather interesting class. It was all things like 'If 11 Troy ounces of Beetle eyes costs 13 Sickles, how much would 8 kilograms cost.' Harry found it rather stressful until he worked up the courage to ask Mr Vector what all the measurements were. After that, it got quite easy, though Harry did think that whoever had designed the system had picked the most awkward numbers possible.  
Harry hadn't had time to truly appreciate Dudley's figure in a robe the day before, but this morning he had time to really look at his cousin. Dudley almost looked better in a robe than he did in muggle clothes - he did look like nothing so much as a pregnant whale, but at least you couldn't see the contrast between the bulk of Dudley's gut and his relatively narrow legs.   
Dudley himself was having a great deal of difficulty with the exercises. No-one was sitting in front of him or to the side of him and he couldn't squirm around enough to see the freaks paper without alerting the teacher. Something would have to be done.  
Finishing up his worksheet, Harry peered over at Draco's page. Draco had finished his exercises too and was entertaining himself by drawing stick figures on a spare sheet of paper. One of them looked a lot like Dudley, except that it was running. Though, Harry thought, Dudley might be persuaded to run that fast if he really did have a dragon with a knife and fork in it's claws chasing him.  
'Now, class,' called Mr Vector, pushing his spectacles back up his nose. 'If you'd like to hand your papers in, we'll be assessing your literacy for the rest of the period. Write your name, year and house on the top of your pa.. yes, Mr Dursley?'  
Dudley, seeing time running out, had yelped, clutching the back of his neck. He was now twisting round in his seat and rubbing his nape theatrically, staring mournfully at Harry. Squirming back to face front, Dudley said, in what he imagined to be martyred tones, 'Nothing, Sir,' one hand snaking out across Harry's desk to grab the top sheet of paper.  
'Very well. Mr Potter, see me after class. We will be doing a comprehension exercise first, using the works of H. G. Wells as our source. These editions have had the 'Trust me' charms taken off, so you need not worry.'  
As the teacher handed out worn copies of 'The War of the Worlds,' Dudley scribbled his name on his kidnapped arithmetic sheet without looking and folded it in half, passing it forward with the other children's papers.  
  
Later, as they packed up their books, Harry muttered to Draco, 'Sorry for stealing your drawing.'  
Draco raised one eyebrow. 'I feel sure the sacrifice will be worth it. Though I might have provided a more flattering portrait had I known your intentions.'  
Harry thought about that for a moment and sighed gloomily. 'Mr Vector isn't going to believe Dudley drew it, is he?'  
Draco smirked. 'I feel quite sure that you are going to be in detention for swapping your cousins undoubtedly perfect worksheet for your own malicious doodles quite soon. Here, have a sandwich.'  
  
Absinthe Vector looked down through his spectacles at the model of injured innocence before him. All he'd done was ask the child if he had anything to say for himself.  
'Well, Mr Potter?'  
He'd been teaching odd classes like this one ever since his Arimathea had been given the Astronomy position, drumming arithmetic into eleven year olds and art appreciation into seventeen year olds. He wasn't blind, and he wasn't stupid. He knew perfectly well that the fat boy had faked his injury and that all Potter had done was defend his own work.   
'I don't know what you want me to say, Sir,' said the boy tentatively.   
Absinthe almost believed the confusion in the child's voice. Still, this one was trouble, while the other, no matter how hard he tried, would only ever be annoying.  
'I see. Detention this evening, Mr Potter, but I shall not be taking points.'  
  
At dinner that evening, Harry found himself eating left handed while with his right he dashed off a series of long division exercises. He already had detention every night until Thursday, not counting Professor Snape's extra detentions, and he still had one more class to go today. Fortunately, charms homework had been very easy and herbology homework was only 10 inches on 'Why Herbology will be useful to me in later life,' or 'I will not sleep or talk through class because....'  
That left Basic Learning and Transfiguration. He was half way through the arithmetic already and fortunately, the subject of the Transfiguration essay was something he'd read about before. If he didn't sleep in tomorrow morning, he should be able to keep up.  
Harry was just working out 19's into 42 when he heard a voice behind him and to his left.  
'Is it,' it said, echoed immediately by the same voice to his right, 'true?'  
Harry, rather freaked out, squirmed round in his seat. The red headed twins who'd introduced him to Ron were standing there, expressions of hopeful glee on their faces.  
'Is what true?' asked Harry warily.  
'That,' said the twin on the right, 'you've beaten our record for detentions in one day?'  
Harry shrugged and smiled, head tipped to the side consideringly. 'Well, I don't know what your record is,' he mused. 'But I do seem to have quite a few detentions. Is that good?'  
The twins grinned. "I'm Gred. He's Forge. At your service.' They bowed theatrically, Gred accidentally swiping one flailing hand through Draco's careful coiffure.   
Harry nodded regally before flicking a spoonful of custard into Gred's hair. 'Before Malfoy does something worse,' he said. 'You won't mind if I accidentally call you Fred and George will you? All these names are so hard to remember.'  
  
Harry made it as far as the second set of stairs before Draco caught up with him.   
The larger boy grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed Harry into the wall, holding him there one handed. 'If you ever choose, ' Draco snarled, 'to take my revenge for me again, I will be most displeased. Is that clear, Potter?'  
Draco eased up on the arm across Harry's throat enough for Harry to mutter, 'yeah, gotcha,' and start coughing.   
A quick smirk flicked across Draco's face and he leant forward again, this time without putting any weight on Harry's throat. He said softly, 'Only take unilateral decisions regarding our defence in an emergency, nine. Oh, and try to look bullied.' With that, Draco stepped abruptly back, leaving Harry to lean on the wall and wheeze.  
The other Slytherin first year boys moved out of the shadows, Gregory carrying Draco's bag. Draco took it from him, murmuring an absent thank you, and stalked onwards towards the dorms.  
Blaise shook his head, pulling Harry onto his feet and taking his satchel. 'You did ask for it.'  
Harry shrugged. 'I know. I just didn't want to start a war.'  
Dudley, at the back of the group with Vincent Crabbe, muttered, 'Pansy Potter,' just loud enough for Blaise and Harry to hear. 'Afraid, freak?'  
'Not of you, Duddiekins,' said Harry, gloomily. He knew where this was going; Dudley only needed an excuse.  
'Duddiekins?' said Blaise. 'Please, tell me you're joking. That's just too horrible, even for that lard arse.'  
Harry had just time to think 'Oops,' before Dudley lurched forward, apparently intent on punching Blaise and purely accidentally knocking Harry flying.  
  
It was a nice picture, Harry thought. Pretty. It was a shame that it was going to get broken, really. Harry was quite glad not to be landing directly against the stone wall, but still, it was a pity about the picture.  
Blaise, with minimal experience of physical fighting, rubbed at his bleeding nose and wondered fuzzily what he was supposed to do now.  
Dudley grinned. He liked this. Maybe he wouldn't have to settle for being third or fourth after all.  
Draco began to turn around, wand already in hand.  
The picture moved out of the way and Harry bounced down the flight of stairs behind it.   
  
Harry had a lot of practice at falling down stairs. You just rolled up into a ball and relaxed as best you could. You kept your arms tucked in so they didn't get caught in the banisters and you tried not to hit the walls head first.  
He'd never fallen down a spiral staircase before. It seemed to involve more scraping your skin and less thumping violently into walls at great speed than the stairs at the Dursleys. Having room to roll to a halt at the foot of the stairs was nice too.  
Cautiously, Harry uncoiled himself. The first thing he checked was his glasses, the second thing his wand. The third thing Harry checked was the room. It was empty, a round stone storeroom, inhabited only by dust and spiders. Safe.   
'Harry?'  
'Blaise?'  
Blaise skittered into the room, blood splashed dramatically across his face.   
'You OK, Harry?'  
Harry picked himself up, wondering briefly if he should just give up on clothing under his robes, and trying not to wince. 'Pretty much. You?'  
'Fine. Here, lean on me a bit. Just up the stairs?'  
Harry nodded. 'Can't let Dudley see, though.'  
Blaise grinned, dabbing rather ineffectually at his still bleeding nose. 'Of course not. You're absolutely fine, and he's going to suffer. How do you feel about lilac hair?'  
'With his complexion? How about orange? I'm sure he'd look lovely in neon.'  
  
At the top of the stairs, Dudley was already suffering. Draco had decided to rely on speed, fear and the fact that as a first year he couldn't possibly know any curses at all.   
Dudley was now trying to vomit slugs and failing, as Draco was holding his mouth shut while he finished talking. Dudley's usually pale pink face was a deep fuchsia, darkening every moment.  
'Did your parents never tell you to ask before you played with other peoples toys? I hope you learn it now, Dursley. You will keep your sticky little hands off what is mine or you will regret it. Clear?'  
Draco took his hand from Dudley's mouth and stepped back out of vomiting range. He watched dispassionately as the larger boy coughed and spluttered, unable to hold his breath long enough to clear the slugs from his gullet.  
'I'll take that as a yes. Do clean up before you try to enter the common room, Dursley. Harry, Blaise, get up here; you're taking far too long.'  
'Just appreciating the show, Draco,' grinned Blaise.  
  
Draco waited until he was way out of earshot of either Dudley, Vincent or Gregory before asking if Harry was OK.  
  



	7. Not real Chapter! Draft and RFC! Please?

**Warning:** First Fic! AU, small amounts of non-explicit HarryTorture, de-sanctification of several adult characters.  
**Disclaimer:** The usual. I do a nice line in white coats for any one who thinks I own these people.  
**A/N: **A few later aspects of this fic were inspired by March Madness's Fugitive Prince, which is a fantastic creation well worth reading.   
  
**Umm. This is a draft of the first chunk of Chapter 7 - I need help on it. I'm trying to convey some fairly complex things about Harry's character, and I can't find a good balance point between clarity and subtlety. It may be that I'm trying to say too much at once and I need to completely restructure this section. I've listed what I'm trying to show at the bottom of the page. Please let me know if you think I've managed it!  
Thank you very much.  
**   
Answers to reviews in real chapter - but thank you again!   
  
**7. ??????  
**   
Until coming to Hogwarts, Harry had never had a detention in his life. Snape's evening run around the Quidditch pitch had been relatively innocuous. Still, Harry was worried. Other children found the prospect of detention rather alarming and they couldn't all be wrong, could they?  
The class room was gloomy with the falling dusk when Harry arrived. Mr Vector was sitting perched at his lectern, quill dancing evenly across his parchment. Harry stood quietly in front of the desk, waiting to be noticed. Eventually, the light failing, Mr Vector put down his quill and stretched upwards. He started, noticing Harry for the first time.  
'You are late, Mr Potter.'  
Harry, who had been rather early and who had pins and needles in his toes from standing still too long, opened his mouth to deny this and then shut it again, shoulders slumping. It never did any good to argue with Uncle Vernon even when it wasn't about Dudley, it just made him angrier.  
'Mr Potter has been here for some 45 minutes.'  
Harry jumped half out of his skin, turning round faster than he ever had in his life. That was an adult voice, speaking out in his defence.  
Standing by the door, shoulders comfortably braced against the wall and one foot tucked up under him, Professor Snape looked like nothing so much as some great raven. Harry wondered how long the man had been there.  
Absinthe Vector was wondering exactly the same thing. Professor Snape was the main reason he was so reluctant to hand out detentions to Slytherins. You could never tell what the man might do.  
'Severus..'  
'If you wish, Absinthe, I will be delighted to take Mr Potter off your hands for the evening. I'm sure I can think of something to do with him,' drawled Snape, cold stare fixed on Harry.  
Harry's face fell. Malice had dripped from Professor Snape's voice and the expression on his face had been very similar to the one Petunia used whenever she spoke of Harry's mother.   
'Severus, I really don't..'  
'Excellent. Come with me, Potter.'  
Harry threw a helpless and rather apologetic glance over his shoulder at Mr Vector on the way out of the door.  
  
Professor Snape's office was a sombre if comfortable place. The walls were a calm, cool stone, softened by the heavy curtains over each door and the wood framed portraits. Harry, with distant memories of manners drummed into him by his Aunt, nodded politely to the inhabitants of each before turning to face Professor Snape.  
Sitting upright in the heavy chair, long fingers resting casually on the edge of his desk, he said caustically, 'I believe, Mr Potter, that I told you I did not like to be embarrassed by my students.'  
Harry's face flushed and he set his teeth.   
'While it is a pleasant change to have child who does not rant, squeal or whine in my care, Mr Potter, you will explain yourself and you will do so now.' Professor Snape leaned forward over the desk. 'First, the injury to Mr Dursley's neck.'  
Harry looked up at the Professor's set face. 'I don't really know what happened, Sir.' That was usually a safe answer.   
'I see. This fine piece of artwork?'  
Harry gulped. 'A joke, sir?'  
'Is that your answer, Potter, or a question?' Snape looked down at the nervous yet determined expression on the child's face. 'Never mind, Mr Potter, I think I can guess. Sit down.'  
Harry plopped down instantly onto one of the rickety chairs in front of the desk. His feet dangled several inches above the floor. Risking a glance at Professor Snape, Harry immediately turned his attention to the shelves behind his head of house. The man's expression was icy.   
'You will have to learn, Mr Potter, that martyrdom, while no doubt admirable, is a Gryffindor trait and is not to be encouraged in Slytherin.'  
Harry winced. The book right behind Professor Snape's left ear looked fascinating.   
'Taking revenge is perfectly acceptable. However, waiting, planning and not getting caught are infinitely preferable to your clumsy efforts of today.'  
Was it? Harry rather thought it was. The illustrated edition of his book, his favourite book, his book that he needed, right now.  
'Am I being sufficiently clear for your tiny, Gryffindor, mind, Mr Potter?'  
'Yes, Sir,' whispered Harry, mentally opening the heavy leather binding and stroking one hand down the velvet pages.  
'I have dealt with your other detentions for today. However, should you gain more for the same reasons, I will not be helping you.'  
'Thank you, Sir.' Harry could almost feel the indentations where he and Blaise had traced the title illustration for Aunt Rose's birthday card.  
'Return to your dormitory. I do not wish to hear of you again until your first Potions class.'  
  
Harry slouched, woebegone, into his dorm room just before curfew. He headed straight for his book shelf and pulled down 'Magical Herbs and Fungi', slumping on the floor between his bed and the window to open it.  
'Harry?' asked Blaise, cautiously. The child he remembered had had a fierce temper, had reacted to scoldings with stubborn defiance or genuine regret not this apathetic retreat.  
Harry ran a hand down over the title page, feeling for the indentations. There was the dip where they had started, the scratch where Blaise had caught his elbow.  
'Confess, nine, you killed the teacher and now you don't know where to hide the body,' drawled Draco, not bothering to turn around.  
Harry lifted his head from the book. 'Draco, do you think I should have been in Gryffindor?'  
Draco rolled over, staring blankly at Harry. 'Are you mad?'  
Harry ran his hand down the page one more time and shut the book, almost smiling.   
  
------------------  
  
  
  
OK. Cannon Harry doesn't believe all adults are like his Aunt and Uncle, but it doesn't occur to him to ask them for help. This Harry was old enough when he first went to the Dursleys to have seen the progression from polite to not caring to cruelty, and to a certain extent he does believe that of all adults. It's been reinforced by circumstances - his other Aunt and Uncle abandoning him, his teachers choosing to let him deal with Dudley himself or through other children rather than doing it themselves.   
As long as Harry can remember, if he's wanted adult help he's had to trick them into giving it to him.  
Snape here has been the only adult Harry has been conscious of helping him directly and through his own choice, and he's followed it up by saying he doesn't want anything to do with Harry, ever. Harry's sensitive enough to nuance and sufficiently lacking in confidence to pick up things Snape may not mean. Snape may be saying that Harry has some learning to do to make it in Slytherin; Harry is hearing 'you don't belong here.' Which, of course, as an abandoned child is one of Harry's biggest sore spots.  
While Draco's immediate acceptance is just what Harry wants and needs after that, this whole episode is just going to solidify Harry's reluctance to go to an adult for anything at all.  



End file.
